A Stolen Fate
by Sings-off-key
Summary: NWN2 OC. Like a shattered blade, can a shattered life ever truly be mended? Or must one recreate one's self with the shards from the past? This is Carona's journey to recover, or discover her fate.
1. The Rough Road Home

_Author's Note: Now that I've finished editing my Nanowrimo08 entry (Chaos and Entropy) and stamped it Complete, it's time to get back to work on the story I wrote for Nano07. Has it really been so long since I've updated it? Gulp—almost a year. But before I go on, I wanted to rewrite my terrible opening chapter—and here it is. I plan to give the whole story a makeover, when I finish the first draft._

**Ch 1…The Rough Road Home**

The few wisps of clouds far overhead did nothing to cut the sun's glare. The afternoon was warm but this late in the fall, the warmth wouldn't last. Once the sun dropped below the hills, the night would suck the warmth from the earth. The other guards arranged for Carona to have the last watch, those cold cruel hours before dawn when trouble was most likely to come.

My shivers will keep me awake tonight, she thought. Just as well_. _

There was no breeze to stir the dust raised by the wagon's wheels. Carona picked her way through the long grass by the side of the road, a little ahead of the wagon. The oxen plodded along with no guidance from their driver. No doubt they knew the road better than she did. In their dull eyes, she saw no sign of the uneasiness she felt. Galen slouched on the seat of the wagon, his jaunty hat pulled down over his eyes, his legs stretched out on the tongue. He looked comfortable but Carona didn't envy him. Walking was better.

_I need a hat though_. The sun made her squint but the day was too warm for her hooded cloak. _And a nap doesn't sound too bad_. But a languid beckon of his hand told her Galen wasn't asleep. He waited until she clambered onto the seat beside him before he spoke.

"That's a grim look for a fine day," he said. "What troubles you, lass?"

"Don't know."

"Worried about bandits?"

"You're paying me to worry about bandits."

"So I am. Where are Yarek and Kalas?"

"Kalas went ahead to scout out the road."

"And Yarek?"

She hesitated before she said, "Behind us."

"He's behind us? Why?" Carona's expression made him frown. "What, he's not still got the trots? Wasn't it enough that he delayed us leaving the inn this morning?"

"I told him the stew in the common room smelled bad last night. He had two helpings." And he'd added a scornful comment about a 'half-breed's tender belly' that made Carona smile a little now.

"He'll listen to you next time."

Carona raised her brows in polite disagreement.

"You getting along with those two?" he asked.

"Sure."

"You'd let me know if you had a complaint." His voice lifted with a hint of a question.

"Of course."

"They're new," he said. "They don't quite understand my ways yet."

Hah, Carona thought. The two brothers wouldn't be the first to be misled by Galen's flamboyant dress and love for gossip. The man had been a successful trader up and down the Sword Coast for many years. Only a fool would underestimate his shrewdness or, for that matter, his self-interest.

But the brothers were fools. Did they think Galen unaware of their petty harassments and attempts to impress him? Their hope for a permanent position was painfully transparent. Why Yarek and Kalas considered her a rival, she wasn't sure. Galen, who'd known Carona forever, had given her this job as a favor but she thought she'd made it clear it was temporary. She'd told them all more than once that she was working her way south to her former home in West Harbor. It was a perfectly good lie; she didn't know why they didn't believe her.

The brothers seemed brave enough and reasonably competent with their swords. Still, with jobs so scarce in Neverwinter, you could hire brave and competent veterans off the streets, ten for a copper. Galen could do better, Carona thought, but that was his business, not hers. Hers was to learn what she could about the bandits who plagued the coast road. In Neverwinter, working for Galen had seemed an inspired idea. One lone woman asking about bandits would raise suspicions, she'd feared. As it happened, she hardly needed the subterfuge. Traffic along the road was light but bandits were the hot topic in every inn they'd visited.

The right hand wheel jolted into a pothole deep enough to throw Carona against Galen. She straightened with an apology.

"Don't remember the roads being this bad," she said.

"Lord Nasher hasn't sent a crew to repair this part of the High Road since the war. Short-sighted—how's he ever going to raise the coin to fix five years of neglect? Every copper goes to reconstruction, he says, but what's the point of rebuilding the city if he cripples trade in the process? And now he's sent troops to reopen the trade route to Yartar. Ridiculous! If he can't deal with the bandits along the coast, how is he going to handle the orcs in the Sword Mountains?"

"You think he's overreached himself?"

"I do. The Merchants Guild has been yammering for action but they haven't thought this through. Commander Callum's canny enough and he knows orcs but I hear the Greycloaks he's been assigned are green as grass. Everyone's hoping for a quick victory at Old Owl Well, but how likely is that? Even if Callum takes the well, will he be able to keep it?" Galen spoke rapidly and didn't wait for an answer. "I've been through those mountains. They're riddled with caves and canyons. There's a thousand hiding places and it would take an army to clear them out. The Council's money would be better spent increasing patrols along the High Road."

"Why haven't they?"

"Politics. Nasher's got to put on a good show, if only to keep Neverwinter from looking soft to Luskan and others. There's glory in fighting orcs and none in subduing bandits. We need more Greycloaks—that's the real problem. But there's no coin to pay them and the nobles won't stand for another tax."

"Nobody will. If Nasher raises taxes again, you'll see more bandits, not less," Carona said. "How many folks have been driven off their land because they can't pay?"

"Men don't turn to banditry out of anything but greed and laziness. Yes, times are hard but that's an easy excuse. I don't buy it. There are always those who grab for more than their share. There are always those who want to live off the labor of others. They can get away with it now, that's all."

How many meals had Galen missed in his life? Carona frowned.

"When times are tough, folks look out for themselves first. It's only natural."

"And when times are better, do these folks turn honest? I don't think so. When you reach my age, you realize that only the fear of justice keeps thieves and brigands under control." Galen sighed. "I wish you'd seen Neverwinter before the war. Things have changed almost beyond recognition. Ah, but I must sound like an old man, nattering on about better days."

"Yeah, you need to watch that, grandpa."

Galen returned her grin. He was in his fifties, she guessed, but a life on the road had kept him lean and vigorous.

"Grandpa, is it? Hah. I can certainly remember you as a snot-nosed little imp, running around the village green without a stitch of clothing, the scandal of West Harbor."

"You're making that up."

"May Tyr strike me if I lie. Seems like yesterday. Skittish as a panther kit, you were, and about as wild. Folks said—but never mind all that."

Carona looked out over the oxen's heads. She'd overheard enough of the talk about Daeghun's unfitness to raise a child, even a half-human child. Couldn't say she disagreed, either. If she'd been a full blooded elf, would the villagers have complained? At a guess, no. In the Mere, a half-elf was exotic but a true elf was an alien being.

"I think you'll find that, unlike Neverwinter, West Harbor has changed very little. How long has it been since you've gone back?" Galen gave her a sideways look. Ah, Carona thought, the interrogation begins. _At least he waited until Yarek and Kalas couldn't eavesdrop. How thoughtful._

"I haven't gone back since I left. Not in five years."

"But you've kept up with the news, such as it is?"

"No."

"I suppose Daeghun's not much of a letter writer. And I, ah, had heard the two of you had quarreled."

"Not exactly." Daeghun—quarrel? He'd never raised his voice or lifted a hand to her, never, no matter what provocation she'd offered. Whether he'd forgive her for running off without a word, taking every last copper he'd saved—that remained to be seen. But they'd never quarreled.

"He'll be glad to see you then."

"Well." Carona picked at a splinter on the back of the seat. "He'll be surprised."

"Cormick left West Harbor about the same time you did. He's the marshal of the City Watch now."

"I heard."

"And a good friend. We live in the same boarding house."

"I didn't know that," Carona lied.

"So I remember the year you left quite well. I always try to make it to West Harbor for the Harvest Festival and I was there for that one." He gave her another sideways look. "There was quite a bit of talk."

"Yeah," she said. "I bet." She'd run off with Lorne Starling. Daeghun wouldn't have had much to say, but the Starlings no doubt aired their every thought. Lorne had quarreled with his family, all right. Lorne had quarreled with everyone.

To answer some of the questions in Galen's eyes, she said, "I wanted my own life. I got tired of Daeghun treating me like a child."

"But you were how old?"

"Sixteen."

"Carona, you _were_ a child."

"No," she said. "I wasn't." She may have been a snot-nosed imp once but she was never a child.

As she scanned the road ahead, she saw Kalas approach. He walked too fast for so warm a day. Carona stood on the seat for a better view but saw no pursuit. She hopped down and strode out to meet him. She heard Galen cluck to the oxen behind her.

"What's wrong?" she asked but Kalas pushed past her to speak to Galen.

"Someone's piled brush and dead wood in the middle of the road," he said. "Looks like a trap."

"Were you followed?" Carona asked.

"No."

She bet he was wrong about that. If someone blocked the road, they'd be watching. Galen reached behind the seat for his cudgel.

"There's no room to turn the wagon around," he said. His brows were drawn down in concern but his voice was steady. Saplings had been allowed to spring up close to the road, too thick for the wagon to push through. Not good cover, either. She'd need to go deeper into the woods if she wanted to come unseen behind whoever waited for them.

Kalas frowned. "Where's Yarek?" he asked. More urgently, "Where is she going?"

"Let her go," she heard Galen say. "She's a good scout."

Carona hoped that was still true. As soon as she was out of sight of the wagon, she opened her hidden vest pocket and pulled out the medallion Janit had given her. She slipped the chain around her neck so that the charm was visible. It was a coin like any follower of Tymora or Waukeen might wear, save for the engraved mask, symbol of the Thieves Guild.

xxx

"Guard this well," Janit had told her, the night before she'd left with Galen. "This symbol shows you speak for the guild." He put the chain around her neck.

"It's heavy," she said. The silver still held the warmth of his body.

"That's the weight of responsibility." She felt his breath against the top of her head. His fingers lingered at the nape of her neck. "Paradoxically, the burden doesn't lighten when you share it." She smiled a little as she examined the coin. It glinted with enchantment, proof of the medallion's authenticity. She looked up to meet the mild irony of his own smile.

"Learn what you can of these bandits. What they take from the merchants comes from our pockets as well. Trade is the life's blood of the city." The district master paced to the window and closed the shutters against the night air. Late as it was, she could still hear the rattle of cart wheels and the shouts of passersby from the street below. That the Merchant Quarter never slept was an enduring source of pleasure to her.

"Neverwinter bleeds. Find the wound, Carona."

"And when I find it?"

"The thought has been voiced that these bandits strike at us deliberately."

"Another guild?"

"There are those in our hierarchy who see plots behind every shadow. Cripple the trade along the coast and the merchants will move to the inland routes. An opportunity lost to us is a gain to another—our rivals in Yartar, perhaps."

"What do you think?"

"What do I think?" He drew out the words. Janit's long intelligent face and grave eyes had always put her in mind of a scholar. He should be a monk of Oghma, perhaps, or a poet. Not a master of the Thieves Guild. "I think it is better to look than to speculate. You are my eyes, my dear. Go look. These bandits hunt in our territory and they pay us no dues. Educate them on their obligations before they bring the Greycloaks down on us all. If they are reasonable, we will assimilate them."

"And if they're not?"

"Find their head. If they give us no choice, we will strike it off." Carona made a face. Janit stepped towards her, put his hands on her shoulders. "And take care," he added. "Too many have disappeared from the High Road of late."

"I always take care."

"So you say. Do not force me to violate my principles."

"A little late for that, don't you think?" They were alone. She put her hands around his waist. "Did I force you to fraternize with one of your lackeys?"

"I have other principles." Was there a twinkle in those solemn eyes? Janit was always hard to read.

"Such as?"

"Such as—vengeance is for fools." His fingers tightened. "Keep yourself safe. I would hate to have to avenge your death."

xxx

Carona was glad she hadn't forgotten how to move silently through the woods. But where were the bandits? Why hadn't they followed Kalas? If they'd seen him, why had they let him go? She heard voices lift in argument. She crept closer, bent over to keep her steps light. She slid around the cover of a bushy cypress.

_Ilmater weeps! The wrath of the Thieves Guild is sent against—children._

There were five of them, alike enough to be siblings. The oldest looked to be in his late teens; the youngest was maybe ten summers. Of course, armed and desperate children could be as deadly as armed and desperate men. One boy carried a bow with a frayed string. The little girl with the sling worried her more—she was of an age to be both ruthless and reckless. The others had long knives. Butchering knives, maybe, like you'd find on any farm.

Carona didn't need to hear their story. She'd heard it before. The family touched by Beshaba—bad crops, fire, monsters—it didn't matter. The parents were dead of disease or taken up by the law. Or maybe they'd run off, leaving the children to fend for themselves. Thin hollow-eyed youths came to Neverwinter by the score, looking for work but finding little, turning to thievery when their bellies demanded. The pretty ones sold their bodies, the brighter ones ran errands for the Thieves Guild. The others starved, or filled the work gangs, or met worse fates.

Life was like that.

xxx

"You were gone a long time," Galen said when she loped back to the wagon. Yarek had managed to catch up, she noted, but there was sweat on his lip and his face was pale. Too bad. Neither brother's hand was far from his blade.

"Sorry."

"What did you find?"

"Youngsters, out on their first raid. They were hoping for a farmer flush with coin from the market. I convinced them we weren't suitable prey."

"Oh, did you?" Yarek said. "And just how did you do that?"

"I gave them a handful of coppers and told them to go away." Yarek gave a scornful laugh.

"Will they?" Galen asked.

"I think so. I told them I'd slice off their ears if I saw them again." Galen gave her a puzzled look. "They said Fort Locke has posted bounty sheets in every village south of here. The Greycloaks are paying hard coin for bandits' ears."

"The fort is calling for bounty hunters? I don't like the sound of that," Galen said. Carona agreed but not, she guessed, for the same reason. The two brothers exchanged glances.

"Those kids will just ambush the next traveler that comes by," Kalas said.

"Maybe," she said. Galen frowned but motioned for them to move on.

xxx

Fort Locke was an ant's nest kicked by a careless boot, jammed with stranded travelers and locals seeking shelter from bandits. They weren't just robbing merchants now; they took hostages from any household with the means to raise a ransom. As if bandits weren't enough, some claimed packs of lizard folk had raided their farms. They were only after livestock, it seemed, but some farmers weren't taking a chance and had sent their wives and children to the fort. Galen could hardly move the wagon to the transients' yard due to the squalling kids, chickens and pigs underfoot. Someone had rigged a clothesline near the main gate and the flapping of clean diapers and linens gave a most unmilitary appearance.

Galen left the brothers to watch the wagon and, Carona in tow, walked to the command post. Galen had known Tann for years—Carona was convinced he knew everybody on the Sword Coast—but the commander was out on patrol. His second was in a staff meeting but they picked up plenty of rumors from the sergeant manning the post. None of them were encouraging.

Galen was silent when they returned to the wagon and his silence continued through dinner. He's going to turn back, Carona thought. Maybe that was for the best. The bandits' lair must be nearby. She didn't know this part of the coast well but she could move quicker and search better on her own.

But in the morning, Galen's mind was made up. They would go on to West Harbor.


	2. An Uncomfortable Homecoming

_Author's Note: Cleaned up and revised for consistency with recent changes._

**Chapter 2…An Uncomfortable Homecoming**

"Well, lass, I got you home in time for the Harvest Fair after all," Galen said.

Carona smiled with as much of a show of happiness as she could summon. Galen had offered to pay her off but Carona insisted on staying to help him set up his tent and unload the wagon. He accepted her help with the tent but when she began to arrange the trestle tables, he pinched her cheek and told her to run off and get it over with.

_Am I that obvious?_ Carona forced her reluctant feet to walk the path to her old home.

"So. You have returned." Daeghun's voice was flat and expressionless. She stood before the elf, her pack hanging heavy on one shoulder and looked down into her father's eyes. She was taller than him now, Carona noticed. _When did that happen?_

"Just for a day or two," Carona said slowly. "If—if you permit." Daeghun inclined his head slightly.

"Your old room is empty," he said. "You may use it." Without apparent emotion, he added, "For as long as you wish."

As the uncomfortable silence dragged on, Carona realized she had been a fool to expect recriminations from Daeghun. Had she hoped for anger or resentment? Had she hoped to get thrown out of his house? _Gods, I'd hoped for—something. I never learn, do I? Did he even notice I've been gone?_

"Thank you," Carona said and she dropped her pack next to the chest by the door. She had been gone for five years and yet could think of nothing to say. "Have you been well?" she asked at last.

"Well enough," Daeghun said. "And you? You look well."

No recriminations—and no questions about what she'd been doing these past five years. Nothing had changed. Carona sighed.

"I am well," she said. "Is there something you need me to do?"

And with mutual relief, they turned to mundane tasks—preparing vegetables for the evening's stew, cleaning and honing tools, bundling up the furs Daeghun planned to trade for Galen's Duskwood bow in the morning.

"I understand you traveled here with the merchant," he said. "Perhaps you will take the furs to him tomorrow. I will be busy manning the archery contest."

"If you wish," Carona said, amazed that he would trust her with his furs after she had stolen every coin he had five years ago when she left. Had he even noticed the theft? But of course he wouldn't care about the money, any more than he cared about anything else.

She wanted to shake him, to shock him, to strike him, even. _I'm a thief! I've stolen out of hunger, yes, but I keep stealing for the thrill._ _Do you know what else I've done?_ _I've stabbed a man in the back, for no better reason than I didn't like the way he spoke to me._ _I killed a man because he frightened me._ _And I've slept with men I don't love because it's better than being alone._

But he wouldn't understand that, would he? He wouldn't understand any of it.

Once the stew was simmering and the chores were done, there was still enough daylight for Carona to head out to Lewy Jons's farm. Lewy had been a mentor of sorts during Carona's childhood and was one of the few in the village likely to greet her return with any sort of pleasure. Carona did take the precaution of bringing a bottle of mead to ensure her welcome. Lewy's temper was chancy.

But Lewy was in an expansive mood and the bottle of mead, although accepted with alacrity, was hardly required. He cracked the seal at once and they sat on the step of his rickety porch and drank as the sun set, passing the bottle back and forth. Lewy listened with flattering attention to the news from Neverwinter and in particular, what tidbits Carona shared about the Thieves Guild. The leadership had changed drastically since Lewy's days in their company but he still knew a few of the older members. He knew Janit.

"I think about heading back to the city from time to time," he told Carona. "But I don't know. I'm not as young as I was, you know, and it seems to me—"

"What?" Carona asked.

"Well, I don't know. It just seems like there are more rules than there used to be. It sounds like the brotherhood is all—political, like. Know what I mean?"

"I'm not sure."

Lewy scratched his beard.

"From all I hear, this new guild master, whoever he is, sees himself as more than a brother. It's like he's our lord or some such. Brushing elbows with Nasher and the like, I wouldn't wonder. What's the point of all these rules? Why can't things be like they were? We should be taking as big a slice of the pie as we can get, not worrying about trade routes and such. Leave such nonsense to Nasher and his kind."

"Things are different since the war, Lewy," Carona said. "The pie is smaller now. If we get too greedy, Lord Nasher will be forced to move against us. If trade improves, then the pie gets bigger and we all get a bigger slice. It just makes sense."

"Gah! The hells with all that. Fancy talk for cowardice, that's what that is." Carona shook her head but Lewy couldn't see it in the dark.

"And what's Janit thinking, sending you down here alone?" he asked. "Spying on the bandits? Gah! What's the point in that? He should have sent a dozen of us to wipe them all out. That's what we ought to be doing. They want to work our road, they got to pay. They don't want to pay, string them up by their guts. That's a message any fool can read."

"I hope it doesn't come to that."

"It _will_ come to that. Mark my words. You think they're going to listen to a slip of a girl? The Thieves are soft now. Everyone knows it." He punched her knee. "Tell you what, Cary lassie. I'll come with you when you go after that scum. Slit some gizzards, we will."

Once the bottle was gone, Carona left Lewy chortling over some trick he planned to play on Orlen at the fair. She didn't stay to hear the details. She had forgotten how tiresome the old scoundrel could be, especially when he'd been drinking. Carona hoped he never returned to Neverwinter. Janit had worked hard to weed the thugs and bullies out of his district. Lewy knew some good tricks but he'd be a liability now.

Maybe he'd fit in at the Docks.

The Harvest Fair was always held on the full moon, so there was plenty of light to make her way back to Daeghun's house. She slipped into the darkened house and inhaled the familiar scents. Her father's house brought back memories that had been comfortably buried away. Herbs dried in the rafters; the bundle of furs sat on the chest by the door. Carona could even smell the oil Daeghun used to waterproof his boots.

Why had she come back? She had never been happy here. She had never felt at home. How could she have forgotten the endless, wordless grief she saw in her father's eyes every time he looked upon her?

When she was younger, she had asked what was wrong. Again and again, she'd asked. Every question drove her father deeper and deeper into silence. Eventually, she'd guessed her crime. She'd survived the catastrophe that made her his ward; so had he. He'd not forgiven either of them for doing so.

The day of the fair dawned bright and beautiful. Daeghun left early to set up the targets for the archery contest. With the house to herself, Carona couldn't keep from snooping around, opening cupboards and drawers, looking for signs of change, any change. She even searched her father's bedroom. She found nothing of note. Would he keep the house the same a century from now? Maybe so, not that she'd be alive to see it. How could he live this way—if this was living at all? Mired in his own unvoiced sorrow, he was a ghost, haunting himself.

Carona felt no sympathy. He'd made his choices as an adult. They'd been forced upon her as a child. If his grief held more charms than living, let him wallow in it.

* * *

She broke her fast with leftover stew and the end of the loaf in the bread box. She wondered if Elder Redfell still sold bread to those villagers who didn't do their own baking. Was she even alive? She'd been ancient when Carona left five years ago. Her son Georg was the head of the militia and was no doubt running the Harvest Cup competition—as good a reason as any for avoiding all the festivities. He had never liked her and the feeling was very, very mutual. Unfortunately she had half-promised to give Galen a hand so she couldn't just run off to the river and spend the day fishing.

Daeghun's hand cart was where he always kept it, so she loaded up the bulky furs and wheeled them to Galen's tent in the village green. The merchant was already busy with customers. Peddlers came through the village from time to time but Galen was the only merchant of any standing who came through regularly. He brought items that had been ordered from previous trips (mostly ironwork, since West Harbor had no smith) but he also brought a variety of merchandise chosen to appeal to a remote farming community. Spread across three tables was everything from lengths of fabric, sewing needles and pins to axe heads, fish hooks, skinning knives and kettles. A couple of girls she didn't recognize whispered to each other as they pawed through the rings, religious medals and bracelets in Galen's jewelry box, trinkets only. Carona had already checked.

"Ah, Daeghun's furs," Galen said. His face brightened when he saw Carona. "Take them around the back of the tent." He bustled back as soon as he had finished with his customer, practically rubbing his hands in anticipation. He untied the cords holding the bundle and examined the silky pelts with a little sigh of satisfaction. Yarek, who sat on the wagon whittling chips from a twig, put his knife away and looked over Galen's shoulder. He cast a scowl at Carona while the merchant's attention was on the furs.

"Exquisite, truly exquisite," Galen said. "There is _such_ a demand in Neverwinter for pelts of just this color and quality—and you needn't tell your father I said so," he added, giving Carona a conspirator's smile. "To think I considered not coming to West Harbor this year. Hah."

The merchant pulled back the canvas cover over a corner of the wagon and pulled out a long bundle wrapped in coarse cloth. It was the Duskwood bow. "Here, Carona, take this to your father with my compliments." He frowned to himself, then opened his coin purse and gave her a handful of coins, hardly stopping to count them. "And give him this to sweeten the deal. I had to go all the way to Ember to find what he wanted but I think he'll be pleased."

He was pleased. He was very pleased. Carona thought she had rarely heard Daeghun express such heartfelt approval of anyone or anything. There was genuine warmth in his voice as his hands stroked the dark wood and he dropped all he was doing in his rush to string the bow and try it out. He waved her off when she tried to hand him the coins.

Carona walked away, wondering if she should be angry or amused, and wondering if she was actually stupid enough to let Daeghun's unpredictable moods upset her yet again. She wasn't twelve years old anymore; time to let it go.

On the way back to Galen's tent, she met her old friend Amie Fern. Despite the awkwardness of their last meeting, she greeted her with a delighted shriek of "Carona!" and a hug as well. She had grown from a pretty girl to a beautiful young woman. Carona was astonished none of the men in West Harbor had snatched her up. Amie grinned and punched her on the arm.

"For shame, Carona. All the times we talked about how I feel about marriage, and you don't remember."

"I remember," she said with a smile. Amie wanted to be an adventurer, like the mages in tales. Now how could I do that with a house full of kids, Amie had asked. Bevil had always mumbled something about how families were important too. Carona wondered if Bevil still had a crush on her and if he had ever summoned the nerve to speak. Galen was right. Little had changed in West Harbor.

"I thought you might have changed your mind," she said. Amie smiled back with the happy open smile Carona had always liked so well. "I'm glad you haven't."

"I guess you've been off having adventures of your own," Amie said. "Are you working for Galen now?"

"No—well, just for now," Carona said. She realized she hadn't come up with a credible excuse for her visit. Every single person in West Harbor was perfectly aware there was no sentimental attachment between Carona and Daeghun.

Daeghun himself had never asked why she was here.

Fortunately Amie was more interested in hearing all about Neverwinter and the people she'd met there.

"And you actually know Ophala Cheldarstorn? What's she like? Tarmas says she's a sorceress and magic comes to her easy as breathing. If only I were one. Does she go adventuring anymore? Have you seen her cast spells? Is she still with the Many-Starred Cloaks? Have you met any other mages?"

Carona tried to divert Amie with questions about her apprenticeship with the mage Tarmas but then Bevil joined them. He jumped straight in with questions about Lorne.

"You got my letter?" Carona asked. She had written Retta Starling when Neverwinter got the news of the loss of Lorne's unit. She hadn't been sure any official notification would reach her, with the record-keeping so bad during the war.

Bevil nodded. He was a full head taller than Carona and then some, a big sturdy Harborman, but he would never be the giant that Lorne had been.

"But they never found his body? So maybe—"

"A lot of bodies were never found, Bevil." And some that were—well, it would have been better for the families if they hadn't been. "I'm sorry," she said.

"Oh," Bevil said. He was silent a moment. "Listen, Carona, it's about time for the Tourney of Talent to start." Their eyes met and she knew that, like her, Bevil was remembering her last Harvest Fair, when Lorne had shown up with Carona on his arm. Like her, he remembered how this attempt to rattle Cormick had backfired so disastrously.

"So we've got to go," Bevil said, putting a possessive hand on Amie's shoulder. She opened her mouth to speak and Carona saw Bevil give her shoulder a squeeze. "Amie's got some new spells that are going to amaze everyone. Well, maybe not you," he added with a little laugh, "Since you've been living in Neverwinter and all. Maybe you'd like to watch?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Carona murmured.

Carona spent the day helping Galen or wandering the fair, hiding her boredom as best she could. She was pleased that Bevil, Amie and some kid they'd picked up managed to score enough points to win the Harvest Cup even though the Mossfeld brothers beat them decisively in the Brawl. There didn't seem to be as many competitors as in years past and there were a lot of dark murmurs about poor harvests and lizardling attacks. Bandits, on the other hand, did not seem to be a problem this far south. That made sense, since there was little merchant traffic to prey upon. Even the most hardened bandits would think twice before attacking any of the outlying farms in the Mere. Harbormen had a well deserved reputation for toughness after all and they defended their own.

Galen was well pleased with the results of his day's trading. He planned to spend one more day resting the oxen and concluding any last business before returning to Neverwinter. He assumed Carona would be remaining in West Harbor, and he paid her for her time, more generously than Carona had expected.

With vague plans of poking around the Fort Locke area, she went to sleep. In the night, everything changed.


	3. Unwelcome Visitors

_Author's Note: Minor revisions._

**Chapter 3…Unwelcome Visitors**

Necessity had trained Carona to sleep lightly, so when the front door flew open, she woke at once. She stood deep in the shadows, dagger in her hand, before the feet pounding up the staircase made it to her room.

"Oh gods, where are they?" Bevil asked and behind him, Amie shouted, "Master Daeghun! Carona!" Her staff glowed with mage light. Their faces looked pale and frightened in its harsh glare. Bevil wore his chain shirt, an heirloom from his grandfather, and held his sword naked in his hand.

"What has happened?" Carona asked. She stepped into the light. Startled, Amie gasped and took a step back.

"We're under attack," Bevil said. "They're right behind us."

Bevil flushed and looked away as Carona scrambled into her clothes. She pulled on her leather tunic, her belt and her soft boots. She laced her boots and left the rest of the lacing for later.

"Who is behind you? Bandits?" she asked.

"I don't know!" Bevil tightened his grip on his weapon. "I don't know what they are—they're not human and they're not lizard men."

"What?"

"They have torches—they're breaking into houses—let's go!"

"Where's Daeghun?" Amie asked as they clattered down the stairs. "He isn't here?"

"Apparently not," Carona said. "He doesn't really sleep, you know. He could be anywhere."

"Gods," Amie said. "He should have been here to warn us. We need him to defend the village."

Before they even made it out of the house, three of the raiders burst the door open. Bevil was right; they weren't human. They were dwarves of a type Carona had never seen before, with darkened faces and malicious eyes. Bevil rushed forward, brandishing his sword. There was no time for tactics and little time for maneuvering but the dwarves were poorly armed with clubs and short blades. Thin quilted tunics were their only armor. The same fear that made Amie freeze on the stairs made Bevil ferocious. The fight was over in moments.

Amie stifled one quick sob with her hand over her mouth, while Carona quickly checked the bodies. They had no valuables nor was there any clue as to why they were here or where they had come from. Judging by how they were outfitted, they must have expected little opposition—which was strange, considering West Harbor's reputation.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Amie said as Bevil tried to comfort her.

"How many are out there?" Carona asked.

"I don't know!" Bevil snapped. He had fought well enough but his voice rose with fear and tension.

"Let's go find out," Carona said. "But listen. Amie, you stay close to Bevil. You might not see me, but I'll be there too. We won't let anything happen to you."

As it turned out, she was wrong.

* * *

Amie was dead. Lewy was dead. Others had died as well but those were the only two Carona cared about. And Carona found herself gliding through the moonlit Mere, searching peat-stinking ancient ruins for a bit of silver her father had hidden away after the last attack on West Harbor—a bit of silver that Daeghun was convinced was the cause of this attack. Why these denizens from another plane had waited twenty years to come hunting for their relic was a mystery, but perhaps time passed differently for planes-dwellers. Perhaps twenty years was but an eye blink to them.

Daeghun had insisted she take Bevil with her, but Carona refused. Bevil was distraught over Amie's death and Daeghun's cold matter-of-fact orders had enraged the young farmer. For a moment, she thought placid, dutiful Bevil would hit him. For a moment, Bevil's white and furious face reminded her so strongly of his brother Lorne that an icy hand from the grave reached up to clutch at her heart.

"I can do this myself," Carona told her father, in a tone that matched his own. "Just tell me what you need done and I will do it." Daeghun gave her a long assessing stare and then he nodded in agreement.

There were ruins scattered throughout the Mere—traces of the lost Illefarn Empire, Daeghun had told her once. Centuries, nay millennia later, the stonework was amazingly intact in places, particularly in those areas that had been built under the ground. If any treasure had survived the loss of the original inhabitants, it had long since been carried away by adventurers. Of course, that had not dimmed the enthusiasm of the West Harbor youth, most of whom had gone treasure-seeking in the more accessible ruins.

She, Bevil and Amie had skipped chores to explore these very ruins in their twelfth summer. Amie, always a bit clumsy, twisted her knee clambering over loose rocks. Carona ran back to the village and dragged Lorne out of the middle of spring planting to help. Later, after Amie had been carted out of the ruins on the back of the Starling ox and delivered to Tarmas, Lorne gave Carona and Bevil both a good strapping. How she'd hated him for that humiliation.

A tribe of lizardfolk had settled into the ruins some years ago, according to Daeghun, but keen as their senses supposedly were, Carona had little trouble eluding them, at least until she entered the chamber where the shard was hidden. Unfortunately this was now a shrine to one of the lizardfolk's gods. Although the lizardfolk towered over her, they let her pass when she told them she was here at Daeghun's bidding. The ranger was well known to them and they were reluctant to take any action that would provoke the people of West Harbor to hostility. It took little more than a few vague promises to convince their leader to let her empty Daeghun's hidden cache and go in peace. Pressed between rival tribes on one side and barely tolerant Harbormen on the other, their shaman had little choice.

But the shaman hissed when Carona pried out the loose stone Daeghun had described in such detail and removed the small leather-wrapped bundle hidden behind it.

"Cursed!" the shaman cried but Carona hardly heard him. When she opened the bundle and took the shard in her hand, a shock ran through her, strong enough to make her cry out. Sheer magical energy lit her nerves on fire. Her legs trembled beneath her. She should have been frightened yet she wasn't. Impossibly, there was something familiar about this feeling. Could I have dreamed about this moment, she wondered, knowing that made no sense. Daeghun himself had said that the shard had lay hidden here over twenty years. To think that it had been waiting for her touch was perhaps a delusion brought on by the shocks of the evening.

The lizardfolk could have rushed her and killed her in her moment of weakness but they didn't. They backed away but their shaman glared at Carona and gripped his ornate dagger as if he longed to plunge it into her flesh.

"Did you think to hide this abomination here where the stone magic cloaks it? Go, warm-blood, and take your gods-cursed relic with you. If you return, we will kill you and throw your body into the marsh."

* * *

While she was in the ruins, the bodies had been piled into a wagon to await burial in the morning. Carona wondered if there were enough able-bodied souls to dig the graves or if the survivors would go against custom and burn them on a funeral pyre. After the demon attack twenty years ago, there had been too many bodies to bury and that was why her mother—and Daeghun's wife Shayla—had no grave to mark them by.

She could still smell the stench of Amie's burnt hair. Fortunately her body was lying face down so she did not have to see again the charred ruin that had once been the face of the prettiest girl in West Harbor.

The wounded had been taken into the shelter of the Starling's barn. That was where she found Daeghun. Her father finished checking a woman's bandage and then drew her outside, away from the moans and from Brother Merring's hoarse whispered prayers.

"You have brought the shard," he said. "Let me see it." There was dried blood on Daeghun's hands. He carefully unwrapped the shard. It glittered on his palm with a light of its own. Daeghun's expression was grimmer than usual. Just as carefully, he wrapped it up again.

"What is this thing?" Carona asked. "Where did it come from?"

"It is from the battle where your mother died."

"Yes but what is it? Did it belong to the demons? Is it truly cursed then?"

"Cursed?" Daeghun asked. Carona told him of the shaman's reaction.

"And when I touched it, I felt power flow through me like mage fire."

"Strange," Daeghun said. "I feel nothing." The moonlight and shadows had bleached all the life from his face. "Perhaps something has awakened it."

"Awakened it? It's a piece of metal." Obviously it was more than that and questions hovered at Carona's lips. But Daeghun was still thinking.

"The bladelings—that mage—they were searching for the shard and something led them to this village. Perhaps you are feeling the result of their scrying spells or whatever magic they are using to track it."

"But—" Daeghun's look silenced her. He stood still a long moment, thinking, and then he returned the wrapped bundle to Carona. Even through the leather, Carona could feel a low thrum of power. It felt good.

"We need a mage's advice on this, and one more skilled than Tarmas. You must take this shard to Neverwinter. Take it to my brother. He has the other shard. He can help you find a mage you both can trust."

"Hold now, you're going too fast for me. There's _another_ shard? And you have a brother? In _Neverwinter_? What is this all about, Daeghun? What does it have to do with my mother's death? And why must _I_ do this?"

"You know this human city and you will fare better there than I," Daeghun said. "My brother owns a tavern in the Docks district of Neverwinter. It is called the Sunken Flagon."

Carona was not particularly familiar with the Docks district. That was a part of town she preferred to avoid. The thought of stolid, unemotional Daeghun having a brother who was a tavern keeper in the roughest part of Neverwinter boggled her mind. No wonder she had never heard of the place; it was no doubt dismally inhospitable.

"If you mention my name to the harbormaster in Highcliff, he will help you find a ship to take you to the city. That will be the swiftest route and the one most likely to elude the bladelings' scrying spells or pursuit."

"So you think they will still be looking for the shard. And me."

"I believe it likely. You must take the shard away quickly, Carona. The village cannot withstand another attack like this one."

Carona tucked the shard into her inner tunic pocket. She didn't know how the shard had become her responsibility, but she'd wanted an excuse to leave West Harbor. Now she had one.


	4. A Little Help

_Author's Note: More minor changes._

**Chapter 4…A Little Help**

Daeghun wanted her to leave for Neverwinter that very night. She refused. Elves might not need sleep but she did. Not that she did much more than doze once she returned to her bed. Sometime before dawn Carona found herself trudging along the road out of the Mere. Mist lay along the ground like a smothering blanket. She walked quietly along the edge of the road, nerves strung tight, ready to duck into the cover of the woods at the first sound. Could those bladelings, whatever they were, really track her down? No doubt they were led by that mage who'd killed Amie. Perhaps it was he who'd scried the location of the shard in the first place.

If so, why in the Nine Hells had he and his creatures attacked West Harbor? Why hadn't his wrath fallen upon the lizard tribe in the ruins where the shard had been hidden? It made no sense, but what did she know of magic? Perhaps the stone of the ruins somehow obscured the shard's presence. Perhaps the scrying spell was inaccurate. Or perhaps the bladelings were searching every settlement in the Mere.

The simplest solution was to dump the shard in the swamp somewhere or throw it out into the sea. But she didn't know if that would help. Besides, the thought of giving up the shard seemed wrong. There was magic in the shard. She could feel the thrum of it against her chest, where it lay warm and soothing in her hidden pocket. No, she would not throw it away just yet. After all, if those bladelings had come from some other plane to find the shard, then it must be valuable. Daeghun's plan to consult a mage seemed a good one. Once she returned to Neverwinter, she could speak to Ophala Cheldarstorn. Ophala was a sorceress and she knew everyone. She'd know how to dispel any tracking spell. She'd know how to make it safe to keep.

The problem was, if she returned to Neverwinter with her mission unfinished, there would be trouble. She didn't think the tale of the shard and the attack on West Harbor would be enough to excuse her failure. In addition, she wasn't sure it would be wise to bring the shard to the attention of the Thieves Guild, at least until she knew its value. She trusted Janit—to a point. She just wasn't sure where that point lay. There were many in the guild she didn't trust at all.

Carona had no wish to sleep alone and unguarded out in the wild, and so she pushed on far into the evening, with the bright moonlight to guide her steps. At last she reached the Weeping Willow Inn. Tired as she was, she lingered in the common room to gossip with the innkeeper. He brought her a bowl of thick soup and a mug of ale. The travelers had gone to bed already, leaving only local people at the bar. Their concerns were not of bandits but of lizardfolk, who had been seen in unprecedented numbers and who were suspected of stealing chickens, sheep and even an ox. That was interesting but unhelpful so Carona headed off to bed.

At first she thought she dreamed of screams; it took a moment to realize they were real. Oh, gods, not again, Carona thought as she rolled out of her cot. She had taken the precaution of sleeping in her clothes with the shard in her pocket. There had been no private rooms available and she had had to bunk in the third story loft with several other travelers. They had all been asleep when she had come up to bed so she didn't know their names or faces. A dwarf turned on his side and looked at her as she slid into her jerkin.

"What's the trouble, lass?" he asked belligerently, his eyes only half open. Moonlight streamed through the window behind him.

"I have no idea." She hoped it was true, but she drew her dagger. She didn't stay to listen to his grunted response. She crept down the narrow stairs into a scene of chaos. Several bladelings were directing a large group of the same strange gray dwarves she had seen in West Harbor. One fellow ran into the hall in his nightshirt and fell to a dwarf's cudgel. Two more dwarves broke down a door. A woman screamed. At the end of the hall, she saw a bladeling upend a pack and spill its contents onto the bed. Carona slipped back up the stairs.

"The inn is under attack," she whispered to the dwarf. The other travelers were awake as well. She noticed with approval that he had already put on his boots and chain shirt and had a deadly looking axe in his hand.

"Bandits? Let's get them!" the dwarf said with a grin.

"There are at least a dozen of them, bladelings and dwarves," she cautioned.

"Dwarves, eh? Hah! I could use a good fight to get the blood pumping." And before she could say another word, he pushed past her and stomped down the stairs. She looked at the other travelers. They cowered on their cots, panic on their faces. They would be useless. Her lip curled but she made no comment.

As she came down the stairs, she heard the dwarf bellow. She found him surrounded by four of the gray dwarves, who no longer seemed so intimidating. Her fellow traveler was larger, broader and his good cheer was more menacing than their snarls and curses. Carona let fly with her throwing knives, the dwarf's axe swung, and the gray dwarves fell. More came with their bladeling masters behind them.

"The Kalach-Cha!" one of the bladelings shouted. "Find it!"

Carona jabbed her knife into the back of one of the gray dwarves facing the axe fighter. When he turned, she slashed at his throat. He dropped his club and staggered away. She made a quick cut at one of the other dwarves and then one of the bladelings was upon her. He handled a sword like he knew how to use it, taking full advantage of his superior reach. His eyes widened.

"Kalach-Cha," he hissed.

_He knows I have the shard. He can sense it. _

The bladeling pressed her hard in a sudden fury and she had no choice but to fall back. Barefoot, she stepped in a puddle of warm blood but she managed not to slip.

"Hold on, lass," her dwarven ally yelled. He closed in on the bladeling. A swing of his axe chopped hard into the bladeling's unarmored bicep. Blood flew but that didn't divert him from his pursuit of Carona. She jumped back from his next thrust but the bladeling's sword slashed across the front of her jerkin. Then the dwarf's axe chopped his leg out from under him and the bladeling fell. Another stroke of the axe crunched into his skull.

"Are you all right there?" the dwarf asked.

"Yes," Carona said. Her leather had held.

"Come on, then," he bellowed. "We've got them on the run."

If they were on the run, it wasn't away. More of the dwarves pounded up the stairs from the common room and there was another bladeling as well. The dwarf held them at the top of the stairs, where they could only approach a couple at a time. Carona stood slightly behind him, ready to step in if needed but the dwarf made quick work of the remaining attackers. He was one of the fiercest fighters she had ever seen and he hummed a martial tune as he fought.

Strangely, none of the attackers made any attempt to escape. They continued the fight until they were all dead, as if they were under a geas or madness of some sort. At last none of them remained either within the inn or in the yard.

"Well now," the dwarf said after they checked the barn. "That was a good fight." He held out his hand. Carona grimaced a bit at his crushing grip. "You fight right bravely for a slip of a lass, if you don't mind my saying so."

"Thanks," she said, biting back a grin. "I'm Carona. It's good you were here. I didn't see any of those others so much as pick up a weapon to defend themselves."

"Eh, well, that just leaves more fun for us. The name's Khelgar," he added. "Of the Clan Ironfist. You might have heard of us."

"I don't know many dwarves," she said. Khelgar grunted.

"What say we go inside and see if the innkeep will stand us a round? Seems like maybe he owes us a drink or three for clearing out this rabble for him."

The innkeeper was grateful indeed and they soon found themselves with mugs of the inn's best ale.

"Tell me, lass, what was the meaning of the word that spiky creature called you upstairs? Kalach-Cha?"

"I never heard it before. Thought it might be Dwarven."

"Well it ain't. Not even in the tongue of those filthy duergar we killed."

"Duergar? Is that what those dwarves were? They're from the Underdark, right? Does that mean they will only attack at night?" Khelgar shrugged. "But the bladelings are from another plane, or that's what Brother Merring told me."

"You've seen these creatures and fought them before?"

Carona found herself describing something of the attack on her village. Khelgar drummed his fingers lightly on the table as she talked, still in the flush of battle.

"They're looking for something," he said. "And you have it with you. Don't ye, lass?" He gave her a challenging look.

"Yes," she said in a low voice. She looked around. The common room was empty but for them. The innkeeper had gone upstairs to check on the other guests and the damage to his rooms. He hadn't even left a guard on the front door. She guessed he figured she and Khelgar would continue to handle everything.

She wasn't sure what impulse rode her but she pulled the bundle out of her pocket and peeled back the leather to show him the shard. He picked it up curiously and rubbed it between his thick stubby fingers.

"So this is a Kalach-Cha? Part of a broken blade, I'm guessing," he said. "Looks like silver but I'm thinking you'll find it's heavier than pure silver. Some sort of alloy, I fancy."

"A broken blade," she mused. "Well, that makes a sort of sense if this is left over from the battle of West Harbor. Do demons fight with blades?"

"I suppose some of them do. Why would anyone want a bit of a broken blade, lass? The metal's rare and fine but it's not like there's enough here to make anything useful."

"I don't know." She wrapped the shard and put it back in her pocket. "You didn't feel anything when you picked it up?" The dwarf gave her a puzzled look.

"What do ye mean?"

"Never mind." If he had felt it, he would have known. And Daeghun hadn't seemed to feel the magic either. So whatever it was, it was something she could sense—and so could the bladelings that sought it, as well as the lizardling shaman in the ruins. And that was strange, uncomfortably strange. Daeghun's plan to take the shard to a mage was sounding better and better.

Carona yawned. This was the second night of interrupted sleep and she was really feeling it now that the excitement of the battle was over. Khelgar finished his mug and set it down with a thump.

"Best be off to bed then," he said. "If any more of those pesky creatures wake me up, may the gods help them." He picked up his axe and gave it a little shake. "I won't be treating them so gently next time."

Carona laughed and followed him up the stairs. The innkeeper was still mopping up blood and other fluids.

* * *

She'd given up the hope of making an early start and as it happened, she slept past midday. She'd only been in the common room a few moments before she heard the dwarf stump down the stairs, yelling for his breakfast. They ate together, and she learned he, too, was heading for Neverwinter. He had plans to study at a Tyrran monastery there. Carona cocked her head.

"Do many dwarves follow Tyr?" she asked. It seemed surprising but she didn't know much about dwarves.

"Nay, lass, I'm not going there for the prayers. Clangeddin Silverbeard is the god for me. It's the fighting I care about." Then he launched into a tale of being thrown through a window by a group of monks, whose prowess had impressed him so greatly that he sought to learn their secrets for himself. She had no idea if the monks would teach one not of their faith but Khelgar seemed convinced that they would, and who was she to argue with his dream?

"What say we travel together then?" he asked. "I'd enjoy the company and it seems to me that you'll be needing someone by your side if more of those foul duergar come around."

"I'd like that," she said with a smile but her brain worked furiously. She still had the bandits to deal with. If she was to try to infiltrate their ranks, Khelgar would be a liability. But if the bladelings continued to hound her she was going to have to give up that plan. Perhaps there was another way she could get the information she needed. Or perhaps she would have to return to Neverwinter without it and deal with whatever trouble failure brought her.

Carona hated indecision. Still, nothing could be decided here and now. Perhaps in Fort Locke she would find what she needed.


	5. A Chance Met Acquaintance

_Author's Note: Yet more wordsmithing. Not real sure what I'm going to do with the next chapter, which has never pleased me._

**Chapter 5…A Chance-Met Acquaintance**

It was impossible to travel quietly in the dwarf's company. He stomped along like a giant in his thick-soled boots and although he didn't chatter, he often hummed or whistled as he walked. When he did speak, it was in a booming voice that echoed off the trees around them. Still, he was both tireless and cheerful, and those were good qualities in a traveling companion. Although he liked his comforts, he didn't complain about sleeping in the wild with naught but cold rations to eat. Carona didn't wish to risk lighting a fire and drawing attention to themselves, although Khelgar's attitude was more along the lines of "bring them on and let's get the killing over with".

Although there was no inn in Fort Locke, there was a little-used barracks that the fort commander allowed travelers to sleep in. But when the two arrived, it was so packed with refugees that there was no room to lay even a single bedroll. Fear of bandits had greatly increased in less than a ten-day.

They arrived at the fort around midday. While Khelgar saw about replenishing their supplies, Carona hunted for news. It seemed that the fort commander, who had set out looking for his missing patrols, was now missing himself. His lieutenant had decided to completely stop all patrols and pulled the soldiers back to defend the fort, which meant there was nothing whatsoever to deter bandit raids. While the stranded travelers cursed the lieutenant, this just might make Carona's job easier. Or so she hoped.

"I've got bad news, lass," Khelgar said when they met by the smithy. "Every scrap of food has been confiscated by the soldiers. They're doling it out as they please. You have to have a voucher from the acting fort commander to get so much as a rind of cheese! A voucher!" He huffed and his scowl deepened. "And there's not a drop of ale in the place! Or so they would have you believe," he added darkly.

"You know," Carona said slowly, looking at the sun's position. "I think maybe we should move on. We might do better at one of the nearby farms, don't you think?"

"I'm thinking ye have the right of it." He gave her a straight look under bushy brows. "You have no fear of these bandits everyone's yammering on about?"

"If you're with me, I fear for them."

The closest farm was to the south but neither of them wished to retrace their steps, so they pressed on to the north. They trudged down the first lane that left the road and reached a tiny cluster of farmhouses, too small to be considered a hamlet. At the first house, the heavyset farmer stood on her porch and threatened to put her dogs on them if they came one step closer.

"Those dogs looked half-starved," Khelgar said in the hoarse loud voice he used for a whisper. "Let's move on."

No one answered the door at the second house so they tried the third. An old man invited them in. In exchange for an hour or two of hard dirty labor mucking out a filthy henhouse, they got a couple of bowls of watered down stew, a plate of fried eggs and a scant mug of thin ale each. The farmer, Cled by name, had little good to say of his neighbors, the soldiers of the fort or their new commander but his toothless mutterings were hard to understand. He knew little of the bandits plaguing the area and cared less.

"They won't bother me 'cause I ain't got nothin' worth taking."

He let them spread their bedrolls by the hearth and in the morning, cooked them some more eggs, and then they continued on.

"Don't sound like this Lieutenant Vallis is doing much of anything of use," Khelgar grumbled. "I'm just hoping we run into some of those bandits ourselves." And he grinned.

Instead, they met four soldiers returning to the fort with a prisoner in tow. Carona stopped to stare at her. She was a tiefling, complete with horns, tail and fiery eyes. The girl lifted her head to look at them. Her arms were bound behind her back. Her face was puffy with bruises and her eyes held hopeless despair.

"What is your business on the High Road?" one of the soldiers asked in a bullying tone that raised her hackles.

Khelgar stiffened and scowled. "What business is our business to you? Last I heard this was still a free road."

"Your Lieutenant Vallis told us the patrols had stopped," Carona said smoothly with a slight question in her voice. She would have jabbed Khelgar with her elbow if he had been standing closer.

"Commander Vallis is paying a bounty on bandits. We plan to collect," their leader said. "Found us one today. I'm thinking the commander will pay extra for this demon, once he sees the horns."

"I told you already, I'm not with those bandits," the girl said. The guard at her side cuffed her hard enough to split her lip.

"Shut up, demon, unless you like screaming."

"Let me go! I've done nothing to you."

"Nothing?" The soldier gave her a shove that sent her sprawling into the dirt. And then he kicked her in the side. He wore heavy boots. She gave a sobbing cry.

"Hey, now, there's no call for that," Khelgar said. His hand went to his weapon belt, a move that was noted by all four soldiers. Suddenly their stances changed from half-hearted aggression to combat readiness.

"You know, Vallis don't ask a lot of questions," said the soldier who had kicked the tiefling. "Maybe he'll pay us bounty on these two, if we bring him their ears."

Carona suspected this was a casual threat, meant to cow them, but Khelgar's temper never stopped to count the odds. In an instant, his axe was in his hand. Carona stepped away and let her hand hover near her dagger.

"Start something with me and I'll end it here and now," Khelgar said.

"I don't take that kind of talk from a runty dwarf."

"Runty dwarf! Those are mighty big words from a dog low enough to kick a defenseless woman." The soldier drew his sword, and an instant later, so did the other three Greycloaks. Carona waited for the leader to call back his men. He didn't. He shrugged.

"Kill them all then," he said. "We'll sort out the tale later."

Four trained soldiers against two weary travelers—the soldiers started out confident of the outcome. Khelgar was equally certain and his confidence was fully justified. Sometime during the fight, the tiefling managed to roll to her feet. She crouched, eyes wide, as they wiped the blood from their blades.

"What do we do now, lass?" Khelgar asked, pointedly ignoring the tiefling. "Didn't think it would come to this and now they're dead."

Carona gave him a look. If you don't want bloodshed, don't wave your weapon around, she thought but she didn't bother saying so. She gestured for the tiefling to turn so she could untie her hands. The knots were pulled tight and it would have been quicker to cut them but she had been raised from childhood not to waste a rope.

"Let them be just another missing patrol," she said with a shrug. She had to use the point of her dagger to pick the last knot loose. The tiefling, finally freed, rubbed her wrists where the cord had cut into them. "Let's pull their bodies off into the bushes and leave it at that." Khelgar frowned.

"Check them for valuables first," said the tiefling. "They took my pack and my coin purse."

Khelgar continued to ignore her. "You want to just leave them here for the vultures? Don't you think we ought to go back to Fort Locke and say something to their commander?"

"Like what? Sorry about your dead men but they started it? Doesn't sound to me like this Vallis much cares what his men do," Carona said. "And I don't want to be strung up on the gallows because of their stupidity."

"Vallis doesn't care," said the tiefling. "The soldiers kill whoever they please and call them bandits so they can collect the bounty. It's safer for them to kill travelers than to go after the real bandits."

"You're kidding," Carona said. "Has this been going on long?"

"No, just since the old commander disappeared. Vallis doesn't like to leave the fort to see what's really going on out here. He's afraid he'll get his uniform dirty."

"How did they come to take you prisoner?"

The tiefling launched into an airy and nonsensical tale of how she was trying to sneak by the soldiers and her invisibility potion wore off. Carona broke into what was working up to be a lengthy diatribe against the honesty and reliability of some alchemist in Highcliff.

"Caught you going through their gear, did they?" The tiefling gave her a wounded look which Carona met with raised brows. The silence lasted a moment and suddenly the tiefling laughed.

"Something like that," she confessed. "My name's Neeshka, by the way. Thanks for saving me."

"Well, you can thank Khelgar for that," she replied. "He's the one who stuck his axe in, so to speak."

"Humph," he said. "Lucky for you those soldiers were a bunch of hot-headed idiots." Neeshka exchanged looks with Carona and her lip twitched. "Anyway, we'd best be off."

"Do you think…can I come with you?" Neeshka asked. "I won't be any trouble, I swear. It's just…I don't think I can make it on my own out here." She bit her lip and gave Carona a hopeful look. She seemed so young and frightened at being alone, and it was probably an act, but it was good enough to sway her. Carona remembered what it was like.

"You may join us for now," she said. "But if I catch you going through _my_ gear, you'll wish you'd never met up with us."

"Thanks! You won't regret it, I promise."

Khelgar protested in a voice possibly meant to be an undertone and the tiefling started bickering with him. Carona ignored them and rifled through the soldiers' pouches and pockets. She took all of their food and the two cleanest blankets out of their packs. The soldiers' armor and swords bore the marks of the fort's smith and so she left them with the bodies but they were carrying more gold and trinkets than she would have expected. Since Greycloaks were notoriously poorly paid, she figured this was stolen from the travelers they'd killed. She grimaced when she opened a leather pouch and found a grisly collection of ears. She held the pouch for a moment and wondered what the bounty was worth. _I don't need coin that badly_. She dropped the pouch.

"Um, that's mine," Neeshka said when Carona found a purse in the pocket of the guard who had kicked her. A dainty design of Tymora's coin was embroidered in red silk thread on the belly of the purse. Carona opened it over the tiefling's protests and looked inside. In addition to the stash of copper and silver coins, there was a neat little bundle, surprisingly heavy for its size. Carona didn't have to open it to know what was inside. Lock picks. She put the purse into Neeshka's outstretched hand with a knowing smile.

"I think we should take a lunch break," she said. "But let's move down the road a bit, away from this spot." Away from the blood and the stench, she meant.

They ate quickly. While Khelgar repaired a couple of broken rings in his chain shirt, Carona made a poultice for Neeshka's bruised face.

"It stinks," she complained.

"That's how you know it's working," Carona said. Gods, she thought, I sound exactly like Retta Starling.

Neeshka frowned and in a lower voice, she said, "I know who you are. Your name's Carona, right? I've seen you around the Merchant Quarter."

"Is that right?" Carona asked coolly. "That's interesting, Neeshka, because I _haven't_ seen you around and I think I would have remembered you."

"It's the horns, isn't it? Everyone remembers the horns. But I can stay out of sight when I want to. You're not bad yourself, you know."

"Oh?"

"Aw, don't get all stiff on me. I won't rat you out. Fact is, I could show you a thing or two."

"Like you showed those soldiers from Fort Locke?"

Neeshka grimaced. "That was bad luck. Anyway, what brings you way out here?"

"I could ask the same of you."

"Yeah, see…the thing is, I had to leave Neverwinter for awhile. Had a little problem with an old partner of mine. Seemed best to let him simmer down, you know? Anyway I thought I might find work in Highcliff but everything's such a mess there right now, what with merchants going missing and lizardfolk attacking the ships—"

"What?"

"Yeah, haven't you heard? There's nothing going in or out of the harbor and no one knows where all these crazy lizardfolk are coming from. Now I'm not sure where to go. Doesn't sound like anything's too safe around here these days." She gave Carona a curious look. "So, what about you?" Neeshka asked. "Where are you headed?"

"Neverwinter. I was planning to take a ship out of Highcliff, but now I don't know. I hadn't really planned on walking all the way back home but there might not be much choice." Even with the coin she had taken off the soldiers' bodies, she still couldn't afford a decent horse, not that she knew much about horses. Besides, moving quickly might get her away from the next bladeling attack but a horse would make her a more tempting target for bandits.

"I'm not sure that's a great idea," Neeshka said, echoing her thoughts. "Especially with all these bandits about."

"I don't suppose you know who's leading them or where they come from?" Carona asked idly, but at Neeshka's expression, she sat up and leaned forward. "What do you know?"

"Actually, it occurred to me that you might be planning to join them," the tiefling said. Her eyes were sly. "Or maybe just—check them out." She leaned forward. "I know who you work for," she whispered.

"Do you?"

Neeshka nodded. "And maybe I could help you, if you help me, once we're back in Neverwinter."

"What did you have in mind?"

Something in Carona's tone made Neeshka hold out a nervous hand. "Nothing much, I swear. I just thought that if I helped you now, maybe you'd put in a good word for me with those people you work for. I told you I'm having problem with my old partner but he'd think twice about pushing me around if I had someone behind me. You know what I mean?"

Carona understood this motivation completely. It was the reason she herself had joined the Thieves' Guild, after all. Of course, a good cover story ought to sound plausible. She might be a spy for the bandits.

"Tell me what you know and I'll see what I can do for you later."

"They have a camp east of Fort Locke," Neeshka said. "I haven't been there but I, uh, got some directions on how to find the camp. As far as their leader—I haven't heard much about him. They call him Sarter or something like that. Not one of your guys, I take it." Her eyes brightened. "You know, maybe we could sneak in there and loot the place! They must have loads of good stuff by now."

"Got any idea of their numbers?"

"No, not really. I heard there are a lot of them. They've taken over this old farmhouse, I hear, and they're turning it into a fortress." Her face fell at the thought of the three of them raiding a fortress. "But maybe that's just big talk."

"I think we should scout it out."


	6. A Brief Chat With Bandits

_Author's Note: I cleaned this up a little and now I don't hate it _quite_ so bad… Feedback would be welcome._

**Chapter 6…A Brief Chat With Bandits**

"I don't understand why we're doing this, lass," Khelgar said. "I didn't take you for a bounty hunter."

Carona, having no confidence in his discretion, had not told him about her involvement with the Thieves Guild. That made it rather difficult to explain why she planned to sneak into the bandits' camp. She wished she'd come up with a more convincing story. Who is this missing friend you seek, he'd asked, and her vague answers made him frown. He didn't enjoy lurking in the countryside. Neither did she but they had made it through the night without another bladeling attack, so there were benefits to keeping off the main roads, it seemed.

"Besides," he continued. "I don't think you're going to reason with these blackguards. From the tales I'm hearing, sounds like they're a gang of murdering Baneites that need to be wiped off the face of Faerûn."

"If you're worried, you can wait for us back at Fort Locke," she said.

"Hey, now, none of that talk again." He lowered his voice in what was probably meant to be a whisper. "I'm not leaving you alone with that tiefling. You can't trust their kind."

"Just wait here," Carona said, trying to be patient. "If we're not back by dawn, head back to the fort and give Vallis the location of this camp. You're my safety line if something goes wrong." The little flaw with that plan was that she wasn't certain Vallis would take any action, even if he knew where the bandits laired. If he allowed his soldiers to prey upon travelers like bandits, what else did he allow?

Their entry into the camp was smooth and easy. Neeshka hadn't been bragging when she claimed she could stay out of sight. She seemed to have a knack for wrapping the shadows around herself that Carona could only envy. They climbed over the paling fence near the back of the farmhouse and slipped through the camp like ghosts. The bandits' prisoners were kept locked up in the decrepit barn and that part of the camp was heavily guarded. But Carona's goal was the farmhouse itself. She wanted a quiet little chat with their leader.

Neeshka had been right—there were a lot of bandits. Many of them were bunked down in tents or lean-tos in the farmyard. The farmhouse itself was nowhere near large enough to house them all in any comfort and she wondered what they were going to do once colder weather finally arrived. It seemed clear that this band had settled in to stay. Carona wondered how they thought they were going to do so. Did they believe themselves safe from Fort Locke? Did they have an arrangement with the fort's acting commander? If so, that would explain why the fort's soldiers hunted travelers instead of bandits.

Carona guessed that the leader Sarter and his inner circle slept in the farmhouse. The camp was quiet with all but the sentries bunked down for the evening. The farmhouse, too, was dark and quiet although gleams of light peeked through cracks in the shutters. All of the shutters stood closed to the chill night air.

A guard sat in the dark on the front porch. In addition to the bandits assigned to the prisoners, several wandered throughout the yard and at least one lookout watched the lane leading to the compound. Carona removed a crude bell trap on the back door through the kitchen and they were in.

Neeshka and Carona shared faces of disgust at the unwashed dishes stacked on the floor and the food lying out uncovered to the flies and the roaches. Carona's heart pounded with familiar excitement as she glided through the quiet farmhouse. The furniture had been moved out of the main room to make space for more bedrolls. A good dozen bandits slept on the floor near the fireplace. She and Neeshka made their way along the hall, keeping close to the walls to avoid any creaking floorboards. Towards the back of the house, a stairway led up.

Of the two rooms upstairs, one was unoccupied and appeared to be the treasure house for the pick of the loot. Neeshka's eyes gleamed. _Later_, Carona signaled. Two people slept in the other room. Carona stirred the fire to get a bit more light. She had no description of Sarter, but surely this was him. He was a large man with a grizzled beard. Even in sleep, he sprawled across the bed as if he would dominate it. The girl with him lay scrunched on the far side of the bed with her arms and legs pulled in. Although Carona noticed no apparent bruises or wounds, every nuance of the girl's posture screamed unwillingness.

To kill the bandit in his sleep was a simple task. To talk to him without alerting the sleepers below would be tricky. But Carona had come prepared for just such an eventuality. She pulled a small dark wand from her pocket and whispered the word of activation. This wand had been crafted for her by a friend of Ophala's and had been ghastly expensive, so it was with an inward wince that she used two of its few remaining charges on the bandit and his wench. She looked across at Neeshka, whose eyes were opened wide in surprise.

"Help me tie them and gag them," she whispered. "The paralysis won't last long."

Once they had been bound and gagged with strips cut from the foul mattress cover, Carona stopped to look around a bit. "Search the other room and take what you can easily carry," she breathed to the tiefling. "Look out for traps." Neeshka grinned and glided silently away.

The girl woke first and her confusion turned to terror when she realized she was bound. Carona held up her hand in a signal she hoped would be calming. The girl, although still terrified, stopped struggling. Carona, trained as an acrobat by the guild and strong for her size, lifted the girl out of the bed. She doesn't look over fourteen or fifteen, Carona thought with an unwelcome surge of anger. Staggering under the girl's weight, she laid her on the floor near the doorway where—should the worst happen—any attackers coming into the room would trip over her. The girl trembled with fear or perhaps from cold. A moment's pity made Carona pull the blanket off the bed and drape it over the girl, to cover her nakedness.

The bandit leader stirred at last. He rubbed his head against the pillow in a sleepy attempt to remove his gag. When that didn't work, his eyes opened to slits and he tried to move his bound hands. It took another moment or two for the reality of his situation to enter his consciousness. When it did, he erupted into anger. He thrashed about, trying to break his bonds. When he at last turned to see Carona, who stood next to the bed with a deliberately provocative half-smile on her face, his fury redoubled.

Carona let him struggle long enough to realize that he could not free himself. This took awhile. _Stubborn as an ox, and perhaps as intelligent._ That did not bode well. At last she tired of him. She drew her dagger, grabbed him by the beard, and poked him right below the eye. That quieted him down although the rage on his face was not encouraging.

"You might be wondering why I am here," she said in his ear. She pulled out her medallion and let it fall onto her chest. She feared there wasn't enough light in the room for his human eyes to see it clearly but he blinked in what she hoped was recognition. "I have come to deliver a message."

Through the gag, he made a low growl.

"The message is this. You have overstepped your bounds. Your greed and stupidity have disrupted trade in this area. That will not be permitted. I have come to offer you a choice. Leave the Sword Coast or die here."

The man glared.

"I am going to remove your gag so you can give me your answer," Carona said. She laid her blade across his throat. "If you try to call out, I will kill you. Clear?" He nodded and so she pulled out his gag. His mouth worked as he tried to swallow.

"Who are you?" he asked. "Thieves Guild?" She nodded. "Come for your cut? And you call me greedy. I work for myself and I don't need you or this brotherhood of yours."

"You're wrong. You needed us but it's too late now. You've made a gods-damned botch of things here. You've drawn too much attention to yourself. You're as big a fool as Vallis if you think there'll be no consequences from Commander Tann's disappearance."

"I don't know nothing about that."

"Is that so?" He shrugged, his eyes flat and opaque, not giving much away. Carona didn't know if she believed him. "Who took him then?" He shrugged again.

"Seen plenty of lizardfolk about," he said. "And something else. Someone—"

He took a deeper breath than Carona thought he needed. She clamped her free hand over his mouth before he could yell. He bucked and kicked with his bound legs, trying to knock her loose. He bit her fingers but she jammed her hand deeper into his mouth so he couldn't scream. He gagged and choked but he wouldn't stop fighting. She dug her dagger deep enough into his throat to draw blood. He jerked one last time then stared at her with rigid fury.

"I need your answer." She pulled her hand out of his mouth and kept her blade firm against his throat. Her hand was bloody and bruised from his bite. "You will release your prisoners and leave the area. Yes or no?"

"I can cut you in for a share of the take."

"Yes or no?"

"Yes, damn you. I'll tell the boys we'll be moving on. Plenty of other geese to be plucked, the way things are these days. We'll need some time to get everything together."

Carona studied his face._ He lies_. He had no more fear of the Thieves Guild than he had for Fort Locke. Now that he was warned, he'd be watching for retaliation. He'd hole up here like an outlawed king until Lord Nasher sent the Greycloaks to knock down his walls. That would be bad for business all the way around.

"You know," she said. "I don't think this is going to work out after all." How did you reason with cruel, fearless greed? _With a blade._ Before he could do more than widen his eyes in reaction, she cut his throat.

She turned at the muffled thud behind her. The bound girl stared at her, not in terror, but with a certain grim satisfaction. Carona knelt beside her. "Be quiet," she whispered. "I'm not here to hurt you." She looked up to see Neeshka in the doorway. The tiefling grinned and patted her bulging pockets. Then she caught sight of the body.

"Humph," was all she said.

Carona opened the shutters to the bedroom window and looked down at the back of the house. There was no one in sight. "Go on out and wait for me on the other side of the fence," she told Neeshka. The tiefling nodded and left without a sound. Before Carona could stand, the girl clutched at her with her bound hands and tried to speak through the gag.

"Be quiet," Carona said but the girl wouldn't let go, not even when she pointed her blade at her face. In exasperation, she pulled down the gag. "What?"

"Take me with you!"

"No."

Before she could replace the gag, the girl clutched her knee. "They'll blame me for what you did."

"They won't. You're tied up."

"They'll kill me anyway, like the others." Carona hesitated. "Please! I'll show you Sarter's hidey hole."

_I bet I'm going to regret this_. Carona cut loose the girl's arms and legs. "Get your clothes on," she said. The girl nodded in relief and rummaged through a pile on the floor. "Hurry."

Once the girl scrambled into her clothes, she scrabbled at one of the floorboards and pried it up with her nails. The wrapped bundle Carona pulled out was small but reassuringly heavy.

"And Sarter has a real nice sword," the girl whispered. "Look behind the dresser."

Carona thrust the bundle down her tunic and looked at the sword. The blade was long for her taste but gleamed with an enchantment. The belt and scabbard looked like wyvern skin and should fetch a fair price. She slung the belt over her shoulder and motioned the girl to stand near the window.

"Can you climb down without making a racket?" she asked. The girl nodded vigorously. "Wait."

Carona widened the hole she had cut in the stinking mattress earlier, and fluffed up several large handfuls of the straw stuffing. There was an ash bucket by the fireplace; she used it to shovel hot coals into the bed. The straw burst into flames. With any luck the whole farmhouse would burn down.

The sword belt hung awkwardly, but she managed to climb out the window and drop lightly to the ground. The girl hesitated only the slightest moment before jumping after her. Carona caught and steadied her.

As expected, Neeshka was nowhere in sight. Carona looked around the still quiet camp a moment. She pointed to the fence and mimed that she would give the girl a boost over it. The girl shook her head. She grasped Carona's shoulder and leaned into her to whisper in her ear.

"My pa's in the barn. We got to get him out."

Carona shook her head. "Come with me now or I'll leave you."

The girl looked close to tears but she nodded. At the fence, Carona made a stirrup of her hands and boosted the girl so she could grasp the top and scramble over. Her bare foot was cold as ice but she moved like a strong active farm-girl. Carona wondered how long she had been a prisoner here. Not long, she guessed.

Carona looked back at the farmhouse. Orange light streaked from the now-open shutter and she fancied she could hear the crackle of the growing fire but since the window faced the back of the compound, there was nothing yet to alarm the sentries. Would the fire burn out or would it spread? It had been a hot, dry summer and a cool, dry autumn. She thought the chances were good that the fire would spread.

She climbed the fence and found the farm girl shifting from foot to foot. As soon as they reached the cover of the trees, Neeshka joined them. Seeing the girl, the tiefling raised one mocking eyebrow. Carona shrugged, embarrassed. She had to agree that bringing the girl along was a foolish decision but what was done was done.

The girl grabbed Carona's arm and shook it. "We got to save my pa and the others. They're going to kill them soon as they get the ransom money. Sarter said so."

"No."

"Please. You got to do it."

"I can't." Carona tried to shake her loose. The girl tightened her grip.

"I'll pay you."

Neeshka snorted. "With what?" she asked, the tip of her tail twitching.

"My ma's raising the ransom money now. And the others—they'll pay you too."

"How much are we talking here?" Neeshka asked.

"A lot!" the girl said but Carona just shook her head. "Then—then I'll do it myself! Give me that sword." She glared at Neeshka's low laugh.

"You can't take on all those bandits by yourself. Nor can I," Carona said. She stared at the girl until she was sure that her words had sunk in. The girl still looked mulish, so she added, "You can lead the Greycloaks back here and rescue your father. You said yourself that the bandits will keep them alive until they get the ransom."

"The Greycloaks won't help us. We already asked. Too scared."

Carona held up her hand to stop the interruption. "There's one thing I can do. I'll watch the camp a bit longer. If the fire spreads and the bandits are busy trying to put it out—well, maybe there will be a chance." She held up her hand again as the girl's eyes lit in excitement. "I'm not making any promises now. You go with Neeshka where's it's safer and do what she says. We'll see what happens."

"Tell my pa that his Linny is waitin' for him."

"Fire?" Neeshka asked. "What fire?" Carona waved this off.

"Take her to Khelgar," she told the tiefling. She handed her the bandit's treasure and sword. "If I'm not back by dawn, go on to the fort without me."

"Idiot," Neeshka whispered. "If you get caught, don't think I'm going to come rescue you, because I won't." There was little she could do but nod in agreement.

"Are you a demon?" she heard the girl ask Neeshka.

"No, I'm a walking, talking goat," the tiefling snapped. "Come on and shut up or I'll leave you here by yourself."

There were no conveniently placed trees where Carona could hide and watch the compound from the outside. She scaled the fence again and lurked in the shadow of the lean-to covering the wood pile, trying to convince herself that there was a sensible reason for her to be doing this. Perhaps Sarter had an able lieutenant who would take over as soon as his body was found. Perhaps it was her duty to strike a deeper blow at the bandits' organization. Clearly the garrison at Fort Locke was in no position to do so. Maybe the reward money would make this all worthwhile.

Or maybe she was an idiot, as Neeshka said, feeling pity for a girl with false bravado and cold feet.

Either the bandits downstairs were sound sleepers or they had been overcome by smoke, for the alarm wasn't raised until a corner of the roof of the farmhouse burst into flames. The ensuing panic and confusion was everything Carona could have hoped for. There was so much pushing and shoving at the well that one of the bandits dropped his bucket—apparently one of the only two good buckets in the camp—down the shaft. His angry comrades came close to sending him headfirst down the well after it but they settled for beating him unconscious while the farmhouse burned.

Even a slight breeze would put the whole compound in danger of burning but the night remained still. All of the bandits guarding the barn were either trying to fight the fire or were clearing any combustibles away from the farmhouse. Carona slipped inside. A mage-light lantern hung from one of the rafters. So at least one of the bandits was a wizard. _I hope he roasted in the farmhouse_.

Fifteen prisoners huddled on a dirty pile of straw, either asleep or lying quietly. The barn stank of human waste. _Was it too much bother to dig a damned privy?_ A guard slumped against a wall, asleep. Carona made sure he'd never wake again. As she stood and sheathed her knife, Carona noticed a prisoner watching her, a large fellow with dark hair and a beard streaked with gray. From the lumps and bruises on his face, he seemed to have been treated rougher than the others. Most of the prisoners were older men but a few, she noted sourly, were young women. She put her finger to her lips and he nodded and started silently waking his fellows. How was she going to get them all out of here? Was it even possible? Such a large group would never make it through the yard without attracting attention. Nor did they look up for much of a fight.

There was no back door out but there were a couple of large shuttered windows about shoulder height that could be opened to allow more ventilation in the summer. She pulled back the shutters as quietly as she could and then rolled a keg over to serve as a step. By the time her preparations were complete, all the prisoners were awake.

"Who are you?" the dark haired man asked.

She shook her head. "Can everyone travel?" she asked.

He nodded. The others watched her anxiously. "I'm going to take you out a few at a time. Everyone else, stay still and silent. If a guard comes in, pretend you're still sleeping." She paused to make sure they seemed to understand. "As soon as you're over the fence, make for the woods. You can wait for the rest once you've got cover but be quiet. And don't wait too long."

"I'll keep watch," the dark haired man said. He took the dead guard's blade. She nodded, pointed at four of the prisoners and beckoned them to follow her.

Moving the prisoners was a nightmare. Some of them had trouble climbing out the window, even with the keg to help. But that was nothing compared to what it took to get them over the fence with no convenient ladders, barrels or crates to boost them. Carona winced at every grunt or loud thud caused by a body falling off the fence. If someone breaks an ankle, I'll kill him myself, she vowed.

Luckily for them all, part of the farmhouse roof collapsed with a huge shower of sparks and a loud racket of falling timbers. The bandits were far too busy to check on the barn. The dark haired prisoner came out, the last of the prisoners. He held the mage lamp in one hand, covered in a sack. Carona was glad to see she didn't have to do all the thinking for the group. He stared at the burning farmhouse in dismay.

"My daughter!"

"Is her name Linny?" The relief on his face was answer enough. "She's already safe," Carona said, hoping it was true, and then she gave him a leg up over the fence.


	7. Another Harborman on the Road

**Chapter 7…Another Harborman on the Road**

After all the excitement in Fort Locke, it was a relief to get back on the road again. Although Khelgar hadn't objected to the attention, both Neeshka and Carona would have preferred anonymity. Neeshka grumbled that the reward for freeing the prisoners didn't match the risks they took but she was pleased enough when she added up the value of the bandits' treasure. They planned to sell the jewelry in Neverwinter to avoid the potential embarrassment of having any of it recognized.

There had been no sign of bladelings during the night they spent at the fort. Whether they had given up or were biding their time, Carona had no idea, but bladelings were certainly on her mind as the shadows lengthened throughout the afternoon. As they looked for a sheltered spot to camp, Carona heard a familiar voice shout in anger. Next to a familiar wagon pulled by equally familiar oxen, Galen stood off against his own guards.

"They wanted me to double their pay. When I refused, they said they'd kill me and rob me and blame it on the bandits," Galen said. He looked down upon Yarek's and Kalas's corpses. His cheeks were pale with shock. Once outnumbered, Carona suspected the guards would have backed down if Khelgar had given them half a chance. She was just as glad he hadn't. "I paid them well. I don't understand it."

"Faithless curs," Khelgar growled. When he wiped his axe blade on Yarek's pants, Galen looked away.

"Just greedy," Carona said. She suspected Galen had shown too much pleasure in the success of his trading. She was surprised he hadn't known better but maybe he'd never worked with sell-swords before.

"Once again, I find myself in your debt," the merchant said to Carona. "Er, perhaps you will introduce me to your friends?" He looked askance at the tiefling in particular.

Carona made the introductions and then stood frowning over the bodies. They were unlikely to find a better camping spot before dark, especially with the wagon to move, but the bodies would draw scavengers. Burying them was going to be a lot of work. The weather had remained dry and the ground was brick-hard. In the end, she and Khelgar used one of the oxen to drag the bodies away from camp. Before she dumped them in the brush, she checked their pockets. Khelgar scowled. He had shown the same squeamishness when it came to splitting the loot from the bandit's camp and he had finally refused a share, an attitude Carona and Neeshka both found almost incomprehensible. He said it was because he hadn't shared in the fighting but she suspected his objections ran deeper than that.

"They can't use coin where they're going," she said. "We can."

"Aye, lass, yet robbing their bodies seems disrespectful somehow."

"Donate your share to Tyr's temple when we get to Neverwinter. That will impress the monks."

"That's not the point."

"But Khelgar, they planned to do the same to Galen."

"So we should sink to their level?" She gave him a puzzled look. This seemed to bother him more than the fact that the men were dead by their hands. "All right, all right, I will say no more." He did mutter a bit to the ox as he led it back but Carona ignored him.

By the time they returned to camp, Galen was chatting away with Neeshka like they were old friends. Carona wished she shared his gift for making acquaintances. He had already lit the cook fire and had something savory simmering in a pot. Carona was nervous about the possibility of a bladeling attack but decided to say nothing to Galen. As it happened, he brought up the subject himself. He had stayed in the Weeping Willow Inn the night after the attack on the inn.

"Heard the two of you wiped out the lot of them," he said. He gave Khelgar a respectful nod. "The innkeeper there is an old friend of mine. You should have heard him sing your praises."

Neeshka's eyes got wider and wider. "You mean to say these duergar and bladelings are attacking settlements all over the Mere? Why? I don't understand."

"As I hear it, they're looking for something," Galen said.

"What?" Neeshka asked. "What could possibly bring them to the swamps? There's not much there but mud and stink. No offense," she said, cutting her eyes towards Carona.

"I'm thinking we could answer that question, aye?" Khelgar said. He nudged her hard enough to shift her on her log seat. Carona made a noncommittal grunt but both Neeshka and Galen eyed her with curiosity. She tried to keep her expression pleasant but she was annoyed at Khelgar's hints about the shard to Neeshka, whose loyalties were unknown, and Galen, the biggest gossip along the Sword Coast.

Galen had made tea, an herbal concoction he claimed was healthful. They all drank a mug while they waited for the supper to be ready. While Khelgar fried up some pan bread to go with the stew, Galen drew Carona apart from the others.

"I'm beginning to think you're a gift from Tymora." He patted her arm. "I was wondering, my dear, if I could prevail upon you and your friends to join me in my travels. I believe we are all heading back to Neverwinter and with my guards, ahem, departed—" He looked at her anxiously and added, "I will pay you and your friends for your aid, of course."

Carona had anticipated and dreaded this question. She wasn't sure of the right answer. The wagon would slow them down, confine them to the more passable roads and lanes, and mark them as potential prey. Yet she had to admit to herself that she couldn't feel quite right about abandoning Galen. She wasn't sure how she had ended up traveling in such an odd group, yet both Khelgar and Neeshka clearly assumed that they would remain together. This wasn't what Daeghun had in mind when he gave her the shard, she was sure.

But like Galen, she was beginning to suspect that Tymora had her hand in this, for good or for ill.

A couple of days later, she was certain. There had been very little traffic on the coast road, mostly woodcutters and farmers. Khelgar often rode in the cart to keep Galen company. Learning of Khelgar's interest in becoming a monk, the merchant shared some fascinating tidbits of gossip about the hierarchy of the church of Tyr, including some dirt from Judge Oleff's past that had them roaring with laughter. Carona had no idea that the terribly dignified justiciar had such a history with Ophala. She'd have to probe Ophala for details when she got back to the Moonstone Mask.

Neeshka, who was too restless to sit still for long, even for a tale, liked to scout ahead. She came back, anxious with news.

"There's a group of soldiers ahead," she said. "Five of them, wearing chain shirts." After her previous experience, Carona didn't blame her for her nervousness.

"But that's good," Galen said, a bit surprised at her expression.

"Unless they decide we're bandits," she muttered.

Carona motioned for her to take cover in the scrub by the road. Even an honest patrol might view a tiefling with suspicion. Carona hopped down from the wagon seat and walked ahead of the oxen. She patted her sides to make sure that her dagger and throwing knives were in position. She heard a grunt as Khelgar jumped down as well.

"Ye might be a bit over-cautious there, lass," he said but she noticed him adjusting the hang of his axe in his belt.

"Probably," she agreed. They walked on in silence until they rounded the curve in the road and she saw the soldiers. They weren't wearing Greycloak uniforms like the soldiers from Fort Locke. There were five of them. The tall stocky one in front had a badge or brooch on his shoulder that marked him as their leader. The soldiers picked up their pace when they saw the wagon approaching them and the leader, chain shirt jangling, broke into something close to a trot.

"Oh, gods no," Carona said under her breath and she stepped out of the road to let them by. Behind her, Galen stood up on the wagon bed and then let out a joyous yell.

"Cormick!"

As she watched the two men embrace, Carona realized that Galen and the Marshal of the Watch in Neverwinter shared a relationship somewhat warmer than boardinghouse neighbors. This was clearly not news to any of his men, who grinned when the two hugged and thumped each other on the back.

"Cormick, what brings you here? I almost fell off the wagon seat when I saw you there."

"You, of course. And praise Helm that I find you well. The news from Fort Locke, frankly, has been more than alarming. I finally convinced the good captain to let me take some men to see for myself just how the land lies."

"For once, the tales do not exaggerate," Galen said.

"But Galen, where are your guards?" Cormick asked. He gave Khelgar a puzzled look and then his eyes fell upon Carona. For a moment he stared as if he did not recognize her. The joyous relief drained from his face, to be replaced by wary surprise. Cormick seemed to have changed little during the five years since he'd left West Harbor. Carona wore her hair cropped short now but other than that, she fancied she had not changed much herself.

"I owe my safety to your fellow Harborman several times over," Galen said. He moved away from Cormick and put his hand lightly on Carona's shoulder. "Here's Daeghun's daughter all grown up now, a bane of bandits, bladelings, and turncoat guards. Surprising, eh?"

"Very surprising," Cormick said drily.

Carona broke eye contact. Cormick fit most common conceptions of Harbormen—tall, slow of speech, and as wide as a barn door. He had a craggy face and his nose had been broken often enough to have assumed a certain bulbous shapelessness. He was no beauty, Cormick, but his bovine features masked a sharp, tenacious mind. He had risen through the ranks of Neverwinter's City Watch with uncanny swiftness for a newcomer and particularly for one unconnected to any of the great families.

This was no surprise to anyone in West Harbor. In a village where toughness and competence were expected, he had always stood out. Every task he put his mind to came easily to him. People were drawn to him despite his looks and blunt speech. Years ago she had hero-worshipped Cormick like the other kids of West Harbor. He had been her very image of what a knight should be—strong and true and ferociously brave.

Since then, she had learned the disillusive truth: knights didn't spring like weeds from poor Mere villages. Knights were carefully cultivated within wealthy families who could afford expensive armor, weapons, and horses; families who could hire weapons masters for their children and who had the pull to arrange for their sponsorship into the nobility. Those without such cushy connections could consider themselves lucky if they were taken into the Watch like Cormick—or into the Greycloaks like Lorne Starling. Cormick was no knight.

"Fierce little Carona here has kept me company all the way to West Harbor and thank Waukeen for that," Galen said, noting the tense unsmiling reunion of the two Harbormen with growing concern. Carona wasn't surprised that Cormick had never filled him in on any of the personal history between the two of them and Lorne. The tale did none of them any credit. "I have much to tell you."

"So I gather," Cormick said. "And I want to hear it all, but first, let me tell you that if you're headed to Highcliff, you need to reconsider. I arrived on the last ship in or out of the bay. The Harbormaster has lit the signal fires to warn off all incoming ships. Lizardfolk are sabotaging everything that floats."

"Lizardfolk!" Galen exclaimed.

"Aye. It is more than passing strange to find them this far from the Mere, and in such numbers. And there's more. None of the merchants who have chosen to travel north along the coast road have arrived in Neverwinter. They've all gone missing, Galen. I think you should head back to Fort Locke and wait things out. I know Commander Tann would be happy to put you up for as long as you like and really, the roads just aren't safe now."

"Obviously you haven't heard the news from Fort Locke," Galen said. "Tann is missing along with several Greycloak patrols. The fort is crowded with travelers and local folk escaping bandit attacks. Although maybe things will improve now that Carona's killed their leader."

"Has she now?" Cormick asked. "I'd like to hear how that happened." His eyes flicked in her direction.

Carona imagined she saw certain calculations run through his mind. She had done her best to avoid notice from the City Watch and particularly from their sharp-eyed marshal. Since he mainly worked the trouble-filled Docks, she avoided that area. Like it or not, the separation between the Thieves Guild and the City Watch was not as great as one might think. Experienced Watchmen knew the thieves that worked their district, and not all of them needed evidence of a crime as an excuse to hound them.

While Galen and Cormick talked, Carona motioned for Khelgar to come closer.

"In light of this news, do you have any interest in heading back to Fort Locke?" she asked in a low voice. If Cormick was taking Galen to Fort Locke, she wanted to go in the opposite direction. She guessed Neeshka would feel the same.

"None," was his prompt reply. "I have no fear of lizardfolk. They can't block the harbor forever. Besides, I know a couple of taverns where we can wait them out."


	8. A Shadow Upon the Land

_Author's Note: This is one of those chapters that pleased me in rough draft—and then it turned ugly on me when I started editing. It happens, LOL._

**Chapter 8…A Shadow upon the Land**

The ambush was crudely set and Carona suspected she had taken her attackers somewhat by surprise. At least one question she had was answered—the duergar could move about on the surface in the light of day, although judging by their squints, they were not happy doing so.

"This is getting a little tiresome, lass," Khelgar said as he readied his axe, looking anything but tired.

"So that's a bladeling, huh?" Neeshka added, dagger in hand. "Looks like his mother mated with a porcupine. What's that he called you?"

"I don't know but I don't think it's a compliment." Carona raised her voice. "You there, bladeling—why do you people keep hounding me? I have done nothing to you. Leave us be or you will die." The bladeling leader hissed and then motioned his duergar slaves to attack.

"Thief! I will take the shard from your corpse!" He waved his sword. The duergar started forward and then cried out in dismay as vines and brambles leapt from the ground, entangling and ensnaring them. There was an angry buzz of insects, which swarmed out of the nearby shrubs to form a dark, stinging cloud. Birds erupted from the grass by the road to fly in their attackers' faces and a badger—small but vicious—snapped at the bladeling's ankles. It was as nature itself had chosen to strike their enemies down.

And that was how they came to meet Elanee, the druid. Carona's suspicious attitude seemed to have rubbed off on Khelgar and Neeshka, for they both protested loudly when the druid proposed joining their group. As Neeshka checked the corpses for valuables (none, even the food in their packs was too strange-looking to tempt them) and Khelgar made a little production out of cleaning his axe, Carona studied the druid. True, the woman had helped them in this fight and true, if she knew a shorter route to Highcliff, one that would avoid the main road, well, that could be of great benefit. But it bothered her that Elanee had been following them all the way from West Harbor and they had had no inkling of her presence. Feeling a bit of a fool did not predispose her to like or trust the druid.

But what raised her suspicions the most, Carona suddenly realized, was that Elanee was an elf. She hoped it wasn't mere prejudice that made her fancy she saw secrets in the elf's eyes, just as she had seen secrets in her father's eyes, secrets that she knew he would never share with her. And more, she wondered if Daeghun had something to do with Elanee's presence here now. Although he had never spoken of the druids of the Mere, he had hunted there for many, many years. It seemed certain that he knew them. Had he sent this druid to spy on her? Not that Daeghun meant her any harm—although he cared little for her, he had never meant her harm. But perhaps he had sent Elanee to ensure that she followed his instructions and carried the shard—and its pursuers—out of the Mere.

And so she accepted the company of the druid but she could not help but feel uneasy around her. Elanee herself was quiet but watchful as well.

Unfortunately Elanee's 'safe and swift' path to Highcliff led them to Eridis, a beautiful but deadly glade filled with beasts that mindlessly attacked. They had been incited by a maddened druid trapped in the form of a bear—the largest and most awe-inspiring bear Carona had ever seen. It was clearly no natural beast and when it rose up on its back legs and roared, Carona had been actually stupefied with terror. When it charged, she just stood without drawing her blade until Elanee pushed her aside and called down lightning out of the overcast sky to strike the beast again and again.

This bear, Kaleil, was actually one of Elanee's mysterious Circle but he only remembered who he was when he lay dying before them. Khelgar and Neeshka, who had drawn together in their distrust of Elanee, both reviled the elf for leading them into danger but Carona watched as the druid stroked the great snout of the dead beast that had once been her friend and said nothing. The elf's face was almost as expressionless as Daeghun's had ever been—but her eyes showed how different they were.

It was difficult to judge an elf's age by appearance but the shocked and bewildered pain in Elanee's eyes made her seem little more than a child.

"There is something terribly, terribly wrong," Elanee whispered, grief lying heavy in her voice, pulling Carona to feel a most unwelcome pity. "A shadow has fallen upon the land. I…don't know what to do."

* * *

Carona had never paid much attention to Highcliff—it had always been a point along the journey, never a destination in itself. After two days, she was familiar with every alley, house and business and after four days she was heartily sick of them all. She was sick of the gray skies and the cool dampness that soaked uncomfortably into her very bones. She was sick of the sea-smell of the place and the constant pounding of the surf against the rocks. She was sick of the grousing of her fellow travelers and she was sick to death of her own foul temper.

Khelgar had worn out his welcome in all the taverns in town and the only way she could find to distract him from his bar-fighting fetish was to persuade him to rent smithy space from the local armorer, Edario, and set him to work furbishing up their armor. The physical labor soothed his restlessness a bit and Carona was touched when he forged a lovely little short sword for her. He had also commissioned Edario to make a scabbard and belt to match.

"A dagger's fine for cutting your meat at the dinner table," he had told her, "But for fighting, ye need a sword." He also spent time sparring with her, getting her accustomed to the length of the blade. His energy seemed boundless.

Neeshka was perfectly happy gambling with the many out-of-work sailors stranded in town but if she kept up her 'winning streak', she was going to wear out her welcome as well. She would disappear after supper and sometimes didn't return to their inn until Lathander's colors signaled the arrival of dawn. She would fall into bed with a yawn and a smirk and Carona asked no questions.

Elanee moped around for a day or so, ignored by Khelgar and Neeshka, but a chance meeting with the local alchemist gave her an occupation, gathering herbs and brewing them into medicinal concoctions. Her animal companion, a badger named Naloch, was the terror of every dog in town. Carona heard several townsfolk mutter about the need to muzzle and leash the beast but none of them quite dared to say so aloud. Carona figured they were afraid to draw Khelgar's attention.

Carona could find nothing to satiate her own restlessness. None of the news that she garnered was good. The warning beacons were still lit day and night on the cliff top and the Harbormaster refused, in the curtest way, to even hear her pleas for a ship—any ship. Mentioning Daeghun's name didn't help. When she dropped a delicate offer of a gift of coin for his assistance, his face hardened and without another word, he gestured for a couple of his burly dock workers to escort her off the wharf.

She was desperate enough to try talking to the town elder. Mayne, worried and harassed by complaints from stranded travelers, heard her out politely enough but had no hope to offer. Not only were the ships in the harbor continuing to be sabotaged, but many of the local farms had been attacked as well. No one knew where the horde of lizardfolk had come from or why they had arrived in such numbers. They had made no demands; they just attacked—but they only destroyed property. Not one person had been hurt. It made little sense. The elder's attitude seemed to be one of helpless resignation. In her frustration, Carona felt a moment's nostalgia for West Harbor and its doughty folk.

Their seventh day in Highcliff was enlivened by the arrival of Galen and Cormick, who had left his four fellow watchmen at Fort Locke to help the garrison round up any remaining bandits and search for the missing patrols.

"With Tann gone, I just didn't feel comfortable staying at the fort," Galen told her as they ate lunch together. He and Cormick had taken a room at Carona's inn, and the merchant seemed determined to arrange that they share every meal. Carona was happy to see Galen but Cormick she could do without. "Frankly, my dear," he said in a lowered voice, "That acting commander Vallis is an idiot. Cormick was ready to strangle him and I could hardly blame him. I thought we'd best leave before he did something rash."

Carona smiled. Strangling the fort's commander would do little to advance Cormick's career, she guessed. After seven days in Highcliff, Carona was ready to strangle someone herself. She just didn't know who.

"Really, Carona, you need to deal with this lizardfolk problem like you did with the bandits near Fort Locke."

"I wish I could," she told Galen, not meaning it, but the idea started to soak into her head. Bladelings hadn't attacked since she had arrived in town, but if they were willing to strike at West Harbor, what would stop them from attacking here? Highcliff was a larger town but it had no militia worth noting.

In the seven days they had wasted here waiting for a ship, she could have already been back in Neverwinter—if nothing went wrong along the way. The problem was, with caravans disappearing from the coast road, she wasn't sure that the four of them should risk the trip. It would be stupid to throw their lives away out of boredom and impatience. Daeghun had told her to take a ship to Neverwinter, and as many times as he had irritated, confused and exasperated her, she couldn't say that he had ever given her bad advice.

Obviously the lizardfolk had a lair somewhere nearby, and if it could be found, they could be driven off. Not that Carona had much interest in sneaking into some dark damp cave. Still, it wouldn't hurt to look around. An entire tribe of lizardfolk had to leave some trace of their existence. If Daeghun was here, he could easily track the lizards who were watching the harbor. She doubted she could do so but perhaps Elanee had the skills or maybe there was a decent tracker somewhere in town. Once the lair was found, surely even these sheep-like townsfolk could be roused to take action.

She and Elanee spent the rest of the afternoon combing the beach without much success. The cliffs the town was named for were riddled with sea caves and she had little desire to explore them at random. The innkeeper had told her some of the caves flooded when the tide changed and the thought of getting trapped in one made her shiver. She was a poor swimmer. Drowning was not high on her list of preferred ways to die.

The next morning, all four of them rode out to the Jerro farm at Elder Mayne's suggestion. Shandra Jerro was one of the few farmers who hadn't run to the safety of town. She claimed to have seen lights in the ruins of a castle on top of the cliff overlooking the bay, a place no one had lived for many years.

"It seems an odd place for lizardfolk to settle," Elanee said as they rode their rented horses back to town. "I'd expect them to lair closer to water."

"Maybe it's not lizardfolk up there. Maybe someone else is hiding in the ruins," Neeshka said and she looked at Carona. "Maybe it's someone who wants to keep an eye on the town—or on someone within it."

"Bladelings?" she asked. Neeshka shrugged.

"Some of the sailors claim there are monsters up in the old castle. They say that with a good spyglass you can see them walking along the cliff late at night when the moon is full."

* * *

She had just finished dinner in the common room of the inn when she felt a presence loom behind her.

"May I have a word?" Cormick asked. Khelgar gave her a look and then hoisted his feet out of the chair beside him, muttering something about a tankard calling his name. "Let's go outside," Cormick added. She followed his gaze and saw the curious looks she was getting not just from Khelgar but from Neeshka, Elanee, and Galen, who were chatting by the fireplace. Maybe she and Cormick had been avoiding each other a shade too obviously. She gave an inward sigh and agreed.

The innkeeper had placed a bench under a spreading oak. It was no doubt a pleasant spot to sit in the summertime. Now it was chilly and dark. She sat. The seat felt damp, like everything else in this accursed town, she thought. She could hear the beating of the waves on the cliff below. There was no place in Highcliff where you couldn't hear the sea. After a moment, the bench creaked as Cormick lowered his bulk next to her. He wasn't as large as Lorne Starling had been but he still made her feel about Khelgar's height. She continued to look out towards the ocean.

"It's been a long time, Carona."

"I suppose so." He was as uncomfortable as she was, she realized. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. He had always been almost excessively self-assured. It had been a long time, as he said, but surely he hadn't changed so drastically.

"I want to thank you for all you did for Galen," he said. "You didn't have to help him and…well, I thank you for it."

"I like Galen."

"So do I," he said, a bit inanely, considering that she was aware they were lovers. "And what you did in Fort Locke—rescuing those prisoners…that was a good and proper act, Carona. Galen says they're calling you a hero." She turned her head a little so she could see his face out of the corner of her eye. He wasn't mocking her. He was embarrassed and for some reason that annoyed her.

"Don't worry, I was well paid," she said, and she was not too pleased to find her Harborman's drawl coming back to her. She shifted on the bench to face him. Cormick was sitting so close that her knee brushed his. She jerked away. "You needn't fear that you've been mistaken in my character."

"For pity's sake, Carona, I wanted to thank you, not to criticize you. Is that so hard to understand?" Now she was embarrassed too and that annoyed her further.

"I guess it is. I wonder why."

"Can't we talk without rehashing old arguments?" He made an exasperated sound. "Am I really so harsh? Is that how you see me?"

"You were always quick to judge, Cormick."

It was not too dark to tell he was looking down at her, his heavy brows lowered in a way that had no doubt caused many miscreants in the Docks to tremble and search their conscience. After a moment, he gave a half-amused snort.

"Aye, so I've been told. A hazard of my occupation, I suppose."

"No, you've always been that way," she snapped. "Not many of us lesser mortals have ever met your lofty standards." Cormick made no reply and she wished she had kept her own mouth shut. Carona let out a little breath. She was being harsh and judgmental herself, she realized. And he was right—these were old arguments.

"I didn't mean to rake up old…I'm sorry. This place is making me testy."

"I wish…" he started.

"Look," she said. "What's past is past. We can't change anything now—even if we wanted to."

Silence stretched between them.

"I heard you were going to check the castle ruins tomorrow," he said, as if she hadn't spoken. "Can you use another sword? Let me come with you."

There was another silence, and then she said, "If you like."


	9. The Castle Ruins

_Author's Note: No big changes, just a bit of tweaking and bolt tightening._

**Chapter 9…The Castle Ruins**

Carona had ignored the reproachful look Neeshka sent her when she realized Marshal Cormick would be joining them. Like Carona, the tiefling had her reasons for wanting to avoid the scrutiny of the Watch. But they were all glad of an extra warrior when they learned what infested the castle ruins.

"Oh, gods, the smell!" Neeshka cried, once the last of the zombies guarding the castle gates had stopped twitching. "I'm going to be sick. What are they doing here? Where did they come from? You know—I don't care. Let's just go."

Carona was inclined to agree. If the ruins were infested with undead, this couldn't be the lizardfolk lair they were searching for. Nor did it seem at all likely that bladelings camped here. But Cormick frowned as he looked down at the rotted remains.

"There were reports of zombies seen around Fort Locke," he said. "I didn't pay the stories much mind at the time. Frightened people see all sorts of monsters in the shadows. But can this be a coincidence? Or are the troubles here somehow related to those around the fort?"

"The farmer we talked to yesterday felt there was a curse on this castle. There is an unnatural feel to the land beneath my feet," Elanee said. "And it reminds me of the shadow I felt in Eridis and elsewhere in the Mere."

Khelgar strode to the battered, sagging castle door and threw it wide open. "Enough talk," he said. "Let's split some skulls."

In the entry hall, the floor was twisted and warped. Carona picked her way through a ridge of broken marble tiles that shone like great dirty teeth. _What could have done this?_ The streams of light from the holes in the roof made the surrounding shadows darker.

"Hells, hells, hells," Neeshka whispered. "We shouldn't be here."

"Wait outside then," Carona said. Neeshka's hurt look made her scowl. _Don't you think I'm scared too? But look at Cormick's face—do you think he'll back out now?_

"Wait outside by myself? No thanks."

Skeletal undead roamed the castle halls in random patrols. Khelgar and Cormick didn't have much trouble destroying them. Carona was surprised by Elanee's competence with a blade. She'd borrowed the sword Carona took from the bandit leader and, with the flame enchantment she placed upon it, did a lot of damage.

Neeshka, with her keen senses, was the first to hear the voices. She held up one hand to stop the others. She and Carona, in their soft-soled boots, crept forward. They worked their way closer, down a short hall to a room with no door. Two men were inside. They both wore mage robes. Carona held her sleeve to her nose to try to block the stench. _What are they doing?_ _Ilmater's mercy, those are bodies lying on the floor!_

She heard the murmur of voices but could not catch their words. The man nearest the doorway turned and looked straight at her although Carona was certain she had made no noise. He was no man at all but a shade or sending—she could see straight through him. He gave her a mocking smile and vanished. The other man wore a blank metallic mask with eyeholes like dark pits. Power rose in a cold wave when he called out the words of a spell.

"Oh, hells, he's a necromancer," Neeshka squeaked and then she was gone. The ring of corpses surrounding the mage began to jerk and rise to their feet. Carona slowly backed away, her sword raised in defense. Khelgar and Cormick pounded past her and the fight began.

Carona waited in the shadows. These zombies were much tougher than anything they'd seen so far. _That priest is making them stronger. He'll raise them again and again._ Hugging the wall, she worked her way around the room.

_It's a serious business, back-stabbing a man_, Lewy Jons had told her when she was an impressionable thirteen summers old. _You only get one chance. I know you've no love for the Prince of Lies, but when you get behind your mark, pray for Cyric to guide your hand. Strike to kill. _

The new sword, meticulously sharpened by Khelgar and delivered with all her weight behind it, slid up and under the priest's ribcage. He was dead before he could finish the words of his spell. Pulling her sword out of his body seemed twice as difficult as thrusting it in. All that was left was to crush, hack and dismember the remaining zombies.

"What in the Nine Hells was that about?" Khelgar asked while Elanee healed his bruises. The zombies hadn't been able to gnaw through his chain shirt. Carona's leather would never be the same though and she hoped she would be able to get the stench out of it. Some of the zombies had been wet and slimy.

"I don't know," Carona said.

The necromancer had lived here for some time, she guessed. This room was the charnel house for the bodies the necromancer staged for his foul rites. There were bits of flesh and bone scattered about, like crumbs from a ghoul's feast. The reek of rotted meat was so thick as to be almost palpable. Perhaps that was why the necromancer wore a mask yet apparently he had used the very next room for sleeping and working. A large heavy desk had been moved next to the bed, whose hangings were torn and half rotted in place. On top of the desk there were a half dozen jars, some made from porcelain and some carved from stone. Presumably they held spell ingredients. Elanee opened a few curiously and sniffed at the contents but she took nothing. Her face was set in lines of careful blankness. _This place really upsets her._

Neeshka had no problem opening the locked desk. There was no gold or treasure inside, other than an enchanted amulet and a thick leather-bound book.

"The necromancer's spell book," Carona guessed. "Gods, he wrote small. I can barely read it." Cormick leaned over her shoulder while she flipped through the pages. She found several loose sheets tucked inside. Cormick took them.

"Letters," he said. "Hmm. Who are these Shadow Priests they mention?"

"I have no idea," Carona said. She closed the book. "Here, you better take it."

Cormick replaced the letters and wrapped the book in a bit of cloth torn from a blanket on the filthy bed. "Maybe this will make some sense to the Many-Starred Cloaks in Neverwinter. May I have the amulet as well?" he asked. She handed it over reluctantly. It was probably worth some coin.

She squatted by the body of the man she had killed. He wore no jewelry. With distaste, she patted down his stiff, filthy robe but found no pockets. Her hand hovered over his mask. _What face does he wear? Is it monstrous?_ When she touched the mask, a shock of cold energy ran through her fingers. Hearing her exclamation, Elanee hurried over.

"Be careful," the druid warned. Carona cradled her half-frozen fingers and gave her a wry look. "That is a focus for this priest. It allowed him to amplify his power over the undead."

"_Now_ can we get out of here?" Neeshka said. "Before something worse happens? This place gives me the jitters."

"I feel the same," Elanee said. "No good can come from tampering with the natural order of life and death. Whatever reason this Shadow Priest has for doing so cannot be a good one."

"Well, yeah, Elanee, thanks for pointing that out," Neeshka said, rolling her eyes.

Carona moved closer to Cormick. She leaned forward and he dropped his head to better hear her quiet words. "That shade I saw—he spoke with a Luskan accent."

A worried look was Cormick's only reply.

At the end of a long corridor, guarded by ghouls and zombies they found a room barred from the outside and locked as well. When they finally got the door open, they found a group of unarmed lizardfolk, who stared at them fearfully.

"What did that priest want with you?" Carona asked. One of the lizard warriors mimed a blade across his throat and pointed to one of the dismembered corpses out in the hall. "What, he was going to make zombies out of you?"

"Yes."

"A lizard zombie," Neeshka said in an undertone. "Now that would be something to see." Elanee shushed her.

"Are you from the tribe that has been attacking Highcliff?" Cormick asked. The warriors exchanged glances.

"Come now," Carona said. "We just saved you from a horrible fate. Is it too much to expect an answer to our questions?"

More silence.

"Fine. I'll lock you back in and you can stay here until the necromancer returns," she lied. "He's going to be pretty anxious to make new zombies to replace the ones we destroyed getting here." She beckoned for the others to follow her out.

"Wait." She turned and raised her brows. "We have not attacked the people of Highcliff."

"Ah. But you sank the boats? Burned the farms?" Their silence was answer enough. "Why?" she asked. "What are you trying to accomplish?"

"Only our chief can answer such questions," one of them said at last.

"Then take us to him."

"No. He will punish us for bringing warm-bloods to our lair."

"Maybe he will," Carona said. "But will he turn you into zombies? It's your choice."

"Are you crazy?" Neeshka hissed as they followed the group of lizardfolk out of the ruins. "Five of us against an entire tribe? They'll kill us and eat us for dinner."

"So far they have only damaged property. They've been careful to avoid any acts of war," Carona said. In a lower voice, she added, "I think their numbers can't be great."

"I agree," Elanee said. "Something has driven them here from the Mere. I suspect they do not want to be driven away again. And if they choose to clash directly with humans—well, history suggests that they will not prevail."

Instead of leading them to the lizardfolk's lair, three of the lizardfolk waited with them on a rocky beach near the lane that led back to Highcliff while the others went to fetch their chief. With the shorter days of the season, the sun was already beginning to dip down toward the horizon. Carona wondered if the lizardfolk planned to wait until dark and then ambush them. That would be annoying.

"Where did all those zombies come from?" Khelgar asked, after he had tired of pacing back and forth.

"The Shadow Priest made them, gravel-head," Neeshka said. "Do I got to spell it out for you? Were you too busy playing with that great big axe of yours to figure that out?"

"Where did all the bodies come from in the first place, goat girl?"

"This castle fell in a battle with demons," Cormick said. "It was part of the same war that almost destroyed West Harbor when you were a baby," he said to Carona. "Many Greycloaks were killed here. They were probably buried nearby."

"That was some twenty years ago," Khelgar said. "Might explain where all the skeletons came from. But zombies now, don't they have to be made from fresh corpses? Isn't that why they were keeping them lizardfolk alive?"

"I don't know," Cormick said.

"Well, that's what I think," Khelgar said. "And if I'm right then I want to know where all the fresh bodies are coming from."

It was a good question and she could see that Cormick was sharing her thought. He drew her aside to speculate. Could this Shadow Priest—and judging by the letters they found, he was part of some sort of cult—be responsible for the missing travelers? And was there any relationship between these priests, the migration of lizardfolk and the increased bandit activity in the Mere and beyond?

"Does this tie in with the attack by bladelings on West Harbor?" he asked. "Galen seems to think they are following you, Carona. He says they are searching for a relic of some sort." He nodded his great shaggy head towards Khelgar. "Your friend there says you carry it in your pocket."

"He talks too much."

"And you talk too little. You're more like your father than you like to admit."

"Daeghun is not my father. He made that perfectly clear on many occasions."

"Struck a nerve, did I?"

"I don't have to answer your questions, Watchman."

"Oh yes, you do, Carona," he replied, his serious face becoming yet sterner. "People died in West Harbor, people I cared about. I thought you cared about some of them yourself. Wasn't Aimee Fern your friend? And the gods know you spent enough time hanging around that foul outlaw Lewy Jons when you were a kid, although why Daeghun allowed it—"

"Like Daeghun ever cared what I did as long as I was quiet about it," she said scornfully. "If you want to know about this thing, this _relic_ that I'm carrying, ask Daeghun. He's the one who's been hiding it all these years. He gave it to me hoping I would draw the bladelings far from your precious West Harbor. Maybe he'll tell you more than he told me. He always liked you better."

"Daeghun cares for you," Cormick said. "You've never been fair to him, Carona, or you would have seen that for yourself."

"You think so?" _What's wrong with me? I sound like a whining baby._ "Well, that doesn't matter. The point is that I don't see how what happened at West Harbor could have anything to do with these Shadow Priests. But anyway, it's not my problem. That's for you Watchmen to worry about. I just want to get back to Neverwinter and get on with my life."

Cormick gave her a dissatisfied frown. Carona turned away before he could launch into one of his lectures about what one owed the gods and one's fellow man. He hadn't changed. His stubborn adherence to duty over all else was one of the things about Cormick that had always driven her half wild. No wonder Daeghun liked him so well. His duty had driven Lorne away and—she slammed the door shut on that thought.

Soon a delegation of lizardfolk approached and she was able to stop pretending to ignore Cormick. The one Carona assumed was their leader wore a necklace of what looked like lizardfolk claws. He spoke Common with careful diction and explained that if he made life difficult enough for Highcliff, the townsfolk would go away and leave them in possession of the land. It was such a pathetic plan that she was hard-pressed not to laugh. She did shake her head a little.

"These townsfolk do not think like you," she said as diplomatically as she could. "If you burn their houses, they will build new ones. If you sink their boats, they will build new ones. If you threaten them, they will hunt you down."

"We have not threatened," the chief said. "We have hurt no one—but we could. Know that we could have killed if we had chosen to do so."

"We know this," Carona said. "You have acted wisely. And that is why we come to you with words instead of weapons." She laid her hand on Cormick's arm. "This is an important warrior come from the great city of Neverwinter to negotiate a peace with your people." Cormick narrowed his eyes but did not contradict her. "The destruction of the ships and the houses of the people here must stop. If it stops, there will be peace between humans and lizardfolk. If the destruction continues, you will be pitting yourself not just against those of Highcliff but against the warriors of Neverwinter as well. This is not a battle you can win."

The chief stared down at Carona impassively but she could tell by the restless movements of his followers that her threat had struck home.

"Humans do not make good neighbors," the chief said at last. "Always, there is aggression. It is best for the humans to leave this land to us. We were here first."

Carona gave him a skeptical look. If this place had originally been settled by lizardfolk, it was news to her. "It is best for you to find someplace where humans do not already live," she countered.

"There is no such place. We have looked. _This_ is where we wish to stay."

"Then you'd best find some way to become good neighbors," she said. "The people here will call for the aid of the Neverwinter warriors if they must but they will not leave." As the chief continued to look down at her, she added, "You know this to be true."

Slowly, reluctantly, he bowed his head in imitation of a human nod. "What do you promise, then, warm-blood? Will my clan be free to live here in peace as 'good neighbors'? Or will we be hunted down like vermin at the whim of the humans here?"

"You will be left in peace."

"And does your warrior from Neverwinter swear this is so? Such promises have been made to my people before. We have little faith in the honor of warm-bloods."

"We swear it," she said, pinching Cormick's arm before he could speak.

"If you break your word, we will break more than boats next," the chief warned.

"If there are problems, you will bring them to the elder of the town, who will see that peace is restored," she replied.

Carona was braced and ready for Cormick's angry words as they walked back along the road to Highcliff.

"It will never work, even if Elder Mayne agrees to what you promised—and I doubt that he will. And I don't appreciate you dragging me into your lies and false oaths."

"What lies?" she asked. "Aren't you supposed to be looking into this sort of thing? If Elder Mayne hasn't already sent to Lord Nasher for Greycloaks to get rid of the lizardfolk I'll buy you a steak dinner. They might be marching south from Neverwinter as we speak."

"Like the Watch, the Greycloaks are stretched thin already. There's no one to spare."

"Then that's all the more reason for Mayne to agree to what the lizardfolk ask. But honestly, let Nasher keep feeling the pinch and he'll manage to scrape up a squad or two from somewhere. You can't tell me he is happy at the loss of trade from the south. Not with all the problems with the Lords' Alliance and Luskan right now." Cormick gave her a frustrated look.

"Yes, but this peace you promise is no long-term solution. There is a lot of resentment in the town against the lizardfolk. There are going to be problems. You know that, as well as I do."

"We don't need a long-term solution. We just need to get by for now. If there are problems later on, well, they can be dealt with—later on." _And by someone else._

"You know, you really ought to apply to Nasher for a post, Carona. Maybe he'll give you charge of the Watch. You sound just like my captain."


	10. Back in the City

_Author's Note: I've changed this chapter quite a bit, mainly to work in more of the Janit story line but I've also (I think) improved some of the NPC conversations. _

**Chapter 10…Back in the City**

"By Tymora, I'm glad to be home," Neeshka said after they all stumbled down the ramp from the Double Eagle and threaded their way through the noisy crowd on the wharf. "I could kiss the cobblestones, dirt and all!" She wrinkled her nose at the reek of vomit from the nearby alleyway. "Well—maybe not right here."

Elanee and Khelgar looked around, near-identical looks of dissatisfaction on their faces. Carona's smile faded when Cormick grabbed her arm.

"I wish to speak to you more about this shard and that spell book we found," he said. He had persuaded her to let him look at the shard during the voyage from Highcliff, but it had given him no more answers than it had her. "My captain will likely have questions as well. Where are you staying?"

"I'll be here and there."

He frowned and his grip tightened. "Where?"

_You think I'm going to tell a Watchman where I live?_ _Janit would love that._ "You can leave a message for me at the Moonstone Mask," she said. He gave her a hard look but seemed to realize that was all he was going to get from her.

"I know Daeghun told you to look up his brother but honestly, Carona, I don't see what help Duncan Farlong can be to you. He may have been something of an adventurer once but—" He cut off what he was going to say. "You're better off leaving this in the Watch's hands."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Except for giving up the shard, the thought of turning the whole mess over to the Watch was appealing. Maybe after she had talked to Daeghun's brother, she would do just that. It still irritated her that Cormick knew more about Daeghun's kin than she did. She had lived with Daeghun for fifteen years and hadn't even known he had a brother.

A little to her surprise, Galen gave her a big hug when they parted. "Come see me if you need anything," he told her. "I expect I'll be in town until spring."

"Now then, what do we do first?" Khelgar asked. He stretched and shouldered his hefty pack. "Are we going to look up this uncle of yours?"

The sun was high overhead; it was late morning. Although she knew nothing about the Sunken Flagon, few taverns would open their doors so early, even in the docks. Their owners were likely busy getting the place ready for customers and would not appreciate visitors.

"I think maybe we should find a place for you and Elanee to stay," she said. Noticing Khelgar craning his neck around, she added, "Not here in the Docks. This is the worst part of town; you'll never get a decent night's sleep here with all the noise and commotion. Or maybe you'd like to stop by the monastery first?"

"Sounds fine to me. Once I sign on with them, I guess I won't be needing an inn."

Carona led the way towards the temple district. Neeshka sidled next to her.

"I'm going to need a place to stay, too," she said. "I can't—I don't want to go back to my old place. It was a pit."

"Maybe you and Elanee should room together for now. You can share expenses, and you know she's going to need help getting around the city."

Neeshka made a face but nodded agreement.

During the long walk, she and Neeshka pointed out various sights and famous buildings to Khelgar and an increasingly silent and wan Elanee. Even after seeing it so many times, Carona still found the Hall of Justice an impressive sight. Khelgar was almost as silent as Elanee when they trooped inside.

"We'll wait for you here," Carona said.

"All right then." He stumped forward to the priest near the altar.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say he's nervous," Neeshka said. They watched him follow the priest through one of the side doors out of the sanctuary.

"It feels good to sit down," Elanee said.

"Yeah, even if the bench is hard as a rock and cold to boot," Neeshka said. "Guess you've got to have a tough butt to be a Tyrran." She turned to Carona. "Do you really see old granite head as a monk, the way he acts?"

"Honestly? No."

"The discipline might be good for him," Elanee said.

Neeshka rolled her eyes. "Bleah. Besides, he'll look like a barrel in those robes they wear."

They waited. Neeshka crossed her legs and jiggled her free foot back and forth. Her tail wrapped around her ankle, and squeezed and released, squeezed and released until Carona shot her a look. "Doesn't it seem like that big statue is looking straight at us?" Neeshka asked. "Don't you feel that one huge eye staring and staring, like it knows we're up to something? Makes me wish we _were_ up to something. I wonder where they keep the offering box."

"You'd better go out for some air," Carona said, suppressing a grin at Elanee's shocked expression.

"Yeah but—uh oh. Here comes trouble."

They all knew that bellow. Khelgar flung open the side door and stormed into the sanctuary.

"To the Nine Hells with them and their tests!" he hollered, shaking his fist at the statue of Tyr that towered over the altar.

"Calm down, Khelgar, you're going to get us all thrown out," Neeshka said. She gave the statue an anxious look. "Or worse."

"Calm down? Treat a dwarf like this, will they?"

Carona took his arm and guided him out of the temple. He continued to complain, so she led them to a tavern for drinks and lunch.

"I don't mind being tested," he muttered. "Nothing wrong with that. Hells, I've been testing myself in every bar along the Sword Coast, seems like. But they say I'm not ready to learn. Me—not ready! When that's the whole reason I came here! What do they think I've been doing the past couple of years but getting ready?"

Once he'd wound down, Carona pushed back her seat.

"I've got to take care of some business," she said. "I'll meet you all back here later and help you find a decent place to stay."

"But the food hasn't come yet. You're not going off by yourself, lass?" Khelgar asked.

"Khelgar's right. We should stay together," Elanee said. "What if you are attacked by bladelings again?"

"Here in the middle of the Merchant Quarter, with Watchmen everywhere?" Carona laughed. Neeshka, who probably guessed where she was going, said nothing but her tail twitched anxiously.

This time of day, Janit would likely be in his office. He ran all of the guild's business for his district out of a dilapidated house elbowed in tight with other houses and small businesses in a dirty side street near the park. When she arrived, not only was no one there but the shutters were all closed and someone had boarded up both the front and back doors.

She swallowed down her uneasiness. _There's a logical explanation. Janit talked about moving. Maybe a better building became available._

Usually at least a few cutpurses or errand runners could be found hanging around the park but she saw no one she knew. Perhaps it was just the chill of the day that kept them inside—but where? She looked into a couple of taverns patronized by the guild, without success. _Everyone's at the new place. I just have to find it._

As she left the park, she noticed a barricade set up near the entry to Blacklake. A couple of Watchmen guarded the gates. _Now what?_ Surely if there was another plague in the city, they would have been warned at the docks.

She and Janit lived several streets away, in rooms over a bookstore. The shop was at the end of a once-fashionable lane, where stately old buildings, still showing damage from the war, now housed a used furniture shop, a cobbler and a half-mad diviner. Her feet hurried while her sense of dread grew. The bookstore ostensibly belonged to a man named Darin, with Janit a silent partner in the business. Darin would know where Janit was. She rattled the doorknob. The shop was closed and locked.

_Is there a festival I've forgotten?_ But other shops were open. She jogged around the building and took the back stairs two at a time. To her relief, the door was unlocked, but when she stepped inside, her eyes flew wide open in shock. The apartment had been ransacked.

Someone had slashed the brocade upholstery on the sofa and yanked out handfuls of the horsehair stuffing. The walnut bookcase had been pulled over. Books were scattered, spines broken and pages torn loose. _Janit's going to murder whoever did this._ The three ceramic horses she'd bought from a Kara-Turan trader lay smashed against the hearth. Holes in the plaster walls gaped like screaming mouths.

_This wasn't done out of malice. They were looking for Janit's cache._

Most of Janit's wealth was tied up in the businesses he secretly owned. He had a stash of valuables, of course. Most thieves did. Carona didn't know where he kept his treasure but she knew it wasn't here.

Hers was.

She ran into the bedroom, stepping over the dresser drawers that had been pulled out and dumped. The destruction here was, if possible, worse than the front room. As soon as she saw the heavy oak four-poster lying on its side, she knew her treasure was gone.

Hollowing out one of the bed's legs had taken her days of surreptitious work. She wondered how long it had taken the searchers to find her hidden hoard. Seven cut diamonds, perfectly matched in color and size, a pear-shaped ruby, red as pigeon's blood, and her prize, an almost flawless star sapphire—gone. Everything she'd saved and worked for—gone.

And where was Janit during all this? The destruction was too thorough to have been done quickly. Whoever did it hadn't been concerned about being interrupted. Where was Janit? What if someone was watching the house, waiting for him to return? What if they thought she could lead them to him?

She took one last look around. Should she try to salvage some of her clothes and shoes? _No. Walk away_.

She wandered through narrow streets, trying to keep an eye out for anyone she knew while checking to see if anyone followed her. She saw not one fellow thief. Not that she knew everyone in the guild, but she knew most of those who worked Janit's district, at least by face. No one was about. At last, she saw Dory, one of the little beggar children who lived in the district and who sometimes ran errands for the guild. The girl bounded over at her beckoning wave and insisted on showing Carona the handsprings she'd been practicing.

"Clean up your landings a little and I'll get you started on back flips," Carona said.

Carona bought them both meat pies and they found a sunny bench near the park. The pie warmed her hands. Were they shaking? _No. I'm fine. I'll ask about Janit in a little while. Don't want to sound nervous._ Her grip tightened and hot gravy burned her fingers. Dory tore into her pie like a young wolf. Not sure how to start, she jerked her head toward the barricade at the end of the street. "What's going on in Blacklake?"

Dory's eyes widened. "You haven't heard? Lord Dalren's been _murdered_!" she said with relish. "The Watch locked all the gates. No one can get in or out, not even the folks who live there."

"The whole district is closed because of a murder?" People got murdered every day, it seemed. Not the nobility, of course, but still, the reaction seemed excessive. "Who did it?"

"No one knows. But—" and she leaned over very close so she could whisper. "I heard it was _demons_ did it. I heard they broke into his house in the middle of the night and tore him to pieces. Do you think a demon ate off his face?"

"I have no idea." If half the stories told about Lord Dalren were true, perhaps the demons were merely claiming their own. "Listen, Dory, I haven't been able to find Janit today." The girl just stared at her for a moment, eyes big with astonishment.

"You've been _looking_?"

"Of course I've been looking."

"You don't know _anything_, do you?"

"Dory, I just got back in town. Where is he?" The girl leaned closer still until her bony little body was pressed up against Carona's side and her voice dropped so low that Carona could barely hear her.

"He was taken by the Watch a ten-day ago. Carona, he's been _hanged_."

* * *

Khelgar, Elanee and Neeshka followed Carona back to the Docks district. Even Neeshka was daunted by her white-faced, tight-lipped appearance.

"Are we going to your uncle's tavern now?" Khelgar asked, once they'd crossed the Dolphin Bridge and walked past the large Watch post nearby. She eyed the imposing building with venomous dislike. Was Cormick in there now? Had he known of Janit's arrest? Had he been involved in it? Right in the street, she stopped to think.

Besides Janit, the only other district master she knew was Moire, who ruled the docks. Moire was one of the reasons she had always avoided that area. Unfortunately she now had little choice but to seek her out. No doubt Moire would know the truth of what happened to Janit. She should have left the others in the Merchant district but she hadn't been thinking straight at the time. Still, except for the pickpockets, the streets near the Watch post ought to be safe enough.

"Not yet," she said. "Neeshka, show Khelgar around the armorers' shops and go sightseeing or something. I'll catch up with you in a little while and then we'll go to the Sunken Flagon."

"Okay," she said but her tail gave a nervous jerk. The three had heard about the closing of the Blacklake district from the barkeep while Carona had been out. She suspected they may have heard some talk about the problems in the Thieves Guild as well. Or perhaps the tiefling was afraid Carona was going to desert her. Carona hadn't forgotten that she had promised to give Neeshka an introduction to the guild but she would be doing her no favors, introducing her to Moire. Moire was trouble.

Elanee also looked ill at ease, and Carona realized that for one who had complained about the crowds and the noise of Highcliff, Neverwinter itself must be overwhelming. She didn't really understand why the elf had insisted on following them here. Surely she realized that Carona had no answers to what was happening in the Mere.

Carona was relieved to find that Moire hadn't disappeared or been taken by the Watch, but that relief was short-lived. She wasn't in and wasn't expected back until late. Carona sighed and returned to Armorers Lane where Neeshka and Elanee, bored and embarrassed, watched Khelgar argue with one of the smiths.

The Sunken Flagon was located very near the docks at the end of a row of shops. Daeghun had called the place disreputable but it didn't look bad from the outside. The tavern was also larger than she expected. The day had grown steadily colder but inside, the warmth from the fireplace and the fug from the drinkers crowded at the bar or sitting at the tables in the main room hit like a comforting, if rather smelly blanket.

"Ah, I could use a stiff drink," Khelgar said. Before he could stride towards the bar, Carona grabbed his arm.

"Fine but don't start a brawl."

Khelgar laughed. "Hey, now, I know better than to bust up your uncle's place."

She and Neeshka exchanged looks. "I'll go with him," Neeshka said.

"I'll join you," the druid added wearily.

"Duncan," the bartender called, when she asked him for the owner. "There's someone here to see you."

She stiffened as she looked where the bartender pointed and saw the man emerge from the backroom. He glanced in their direction, his expression flustered or irritated. Neither Daeghun nor Cormick had bothered to tell her that Duncan Farlong was a half-elf. He was brown-haired like Daeghun but there the resemblance ended. He stood a good head taller than her and as he looked down at her, a slight wariness entered his eyes. She realized she had been staring and probably frowning as well.

"Sal, I can't find where you stowed the new wine," he said and then he turned back to Carona. "What can I do for you?"

"I am Carona," she said, not sure how to begin. "I have just come from West Harbor. There was an attack and—"

"An attack! Has my brother been hurt?" He leaned towards her, alarmed, and she caught a strong whiff of brandy.

"No, he's fine. He told me to seek you out. He said you could tell me about this." She opened her tunic and removed the wrapped shard from its inner pocket. She saw the recognition hit him when the shard glittered in the lamplight. He held it in his hand a moment and then gave it back.

"I haven't seen that bit of silver in twenty years," he said wonderingly. "Yet it seems only a ten-day ago that we took it to Sand to see what we could learn of it. It came from that terrible battle, when West Harbor was near destroyed. So many died—and you say the village has been attacked again?" His eyes, which had gone vague with the memory, sharpened again. "And you say that my brother _gave_ this to you?" He looked over at her companions—the dwarf, the elf, and the tiefling—and he frowned. "What did you say your name was again?"

"Carona. You don't know me. Daeghun fostered me for a time. He didn't want to leave West Harbor so he gave the shard to me. Can you help me or not?"

Duncan's blank look became stupefied. _Is the man drunk? At this hour?_

"Daeghun fostered you—do you mean to say that you are Esmerelle's child? Is it truly possible?" He lunged forward like he would embrace her. Carona took a quick step back. "Gods above, Esmerelle's daughter, all grown up! Aye, you've something of the look of her."

"I do? I take it you knew my mother."

"Knew her? Why of course I knew her. Sal!" he hollered. "Fetch us a drink."

After she introduced Duncan to the others, he drew her over to one of the back tables to talk. Duncan had stayed with Daeghun and his wife Shayla a number of times and had, in fact, been in West Harbor twenty years ago when the demons attacked the village.

"He had taken me out to the ruins. I've been through other Illefarn sites, you know, and he wanted my opinion on them. That's why we weren't there at the start of the attack. We were just returning to the village when we smelled the smoke and saw the flames. We got there too late. They both were dead, Esmerelle and Shayla. We thought you would die too." Duncan sighed. He took a long swallow of his ale. Carona did the same.

"Something in him died with Shayla," Duncan continued. "And although we had not been particularly close before, afterwards—well, it was painful for him to see me, I suppose. I reminded him too much of what had happened that night. Not that he ever blamed me—he blamed himself, I think, though there was little sense to that. He has always felt too much responsibility for things he could not control." He fiddled with his mug. "I have to say it was like him to hide that shard of yours in those Illefarn ruins all these years. He had to hold on to it and yet he had to bury it away. He should have given them both to me."

"But what is so important about these shards? Why do they mean anything to him?"

He looked across the table at her and for a moment his dark eyes looked much like his brother's—full of secrets. He blinked and looked away. "I have the other shard in my room. Do you want to see it?"

Of course she wanted to see it. She followed him up the stairs. "I didn't realize this was an inn," she said as they walked down the long hall and she saw the many doors opening to small rooms, all apparently unoccupied.

"I let people stay sometimes but it's a lot of work to run a proper inn and I just don't have the staff, or frankly the interest to do so. Running the bar is enough for me." He opened the door to his room. Carona stopped and stared for a moment.

"Oh," Duncan said with an embarrassed little laugh. "Sorry about the mess, lass. Wasn't expecting company."

Her nose wrinkled at more than the sour odor. In Carona's opinion, mess was a mild word for the state of Duncan's rooms. Dirty clothes lay where they had been dropped and it didn't look like the hearth had been swept since last winter. The litter of mugs and empty bottles gave a clue to why Daeghun had hinted his brother wasn't to be relied upon. It seemed impossible that anything smaller than a wagon could be found in such chaos but Duncan rummaged through a chest near his bed, and with a grunt of satisfaction, held it out to her.

Like her, he had wrapped the shard, although his was wrapped in a dingy bit of linen. He pulled away the cloth and dropped the cool sliver of metal into her palm.

Her heart lurched in her chest. "Ah," she cried. She reeled back and bumped into the bedpost. Her fingers tightened around the shard. Energy ran up her hand in a cold shock so intense that even her scalp seemed to creep from the strength of it.

"Carona, lass, you're as white as a sheet. Did you cut yourself?" Duncan started to pry her fingers open, but then she relaxed her hand so he could take the shard.

"I'm fine," she said as he wrapped the shard back up. "The magic took me by surprise, that's all. It's very strong. Stronger than the other one, maybe."

"The magic?"

"In the shard. Don't you feel it?"

Duncan shook his head. "I feel nothing from it and neither did my brother. We took it to a wizard years ago, and all he found was a trace of an enchantment. Residue from demon's fire, we reckoned."

As it happened, the wizard they had used had a shop nearby in the Docks district. It seemed like an odd locale and Carona said so.

"Sand used to have an alchemy shop in the Merchant's Quarter but he had a run of bad luck some years ago and lost it," was all Duncan would say. "You'd best keep this." He handed her the shard and she put it in her pocket. She followed him back down to the common room where the others waited.

"We can go see him now, if you like," he said. "His shop is most likely open, but if not, he lives above it."

"I hate to bring this up, but we still need to find a place to stay," Khelgar said. He jerked a head at Elanee. "Yon frail copper elf looks a mite weary." Elanee gave him an indignant look but Carona could see that she was indeed drooping where she stood, although she suspected the druid needed quiet and solitude more than rest.

"You're all more than welcome to stay here," Duncan said. "I've plenty of rooms upstairs if you don't mind looking after yourselves."

Looking after themselves meant ignoring years of dust and debris and settling for dirty, musty sheets and blankets, but none of them objected. Neeshka forced open the shutters on four of the rooms to air them out while Elanee went downstairs to look for a broom and an ash bucket. Faintly alarmed by these proceedings, Duncan suggested he and Carona go to the alchemy shop.

"I'll be going with you, then," Khelgar said but Duncan just laughed and said they would be perfectly safe in his own neighborhood. Khelgar harrumphed a bit and looked Duncan over carefully, but then he nodded and went back to the bar.

"A bit protective, is he?" Duncan said, giving her a sideways look as they stepped out the front door. Carona laughed.

"Wait until you hear the tale of our trip here," she said.

The shop was open but empty except for a cat that lay curled in the room's only comfortable chair. He opened one malevolent yellow eye at their approach.

"He'll be in the back," Duncan said. "Sand! Haul your skinny carcass out here!"

Herbs hung from the rafters in pungent bunches and one entire wall was lined with sturdy shelves holding jars and small bins, all labeled in elven script. A strange odor wafted from the rear of the shop. _What's he doing back there? Burning feathers?_

"Don't pet the cat if you value your fingers," Duncan said but she wasn't tempted. The creature's steely gaze was all the warning she needed. Carona turned at the soft footstep and saw a moon elf step through the open doorway. He'd pulled his dark hair away from his face in a tail that hung past his shoulders and he'd rolled up the sleeves of his robe.

Looking elegant in plain work clothes is not proof he's an arrogant, supercilious twit, Carona told herself. It just means he's an elf. _And he was probably born with those perfectly arched eyebrows._

"What do you want?" The mage gave Duncan an unwelcoming look.

"We need your help," Duncan said.

"How shocking and unprecedented," Sand drawled. "However, I am exceedingly busy at the moment."

"You'll want to take a look at what we've got."

"Unlikely." His patrician nose lifted slightly.

_Then again, sometimes first impressions are absolutely correct._

"Sand." There was a hint of anger in Duncan's voice. "This here's Esmerelle's daughter. I think you can manage to give her some of your time."

She could almost smell the tension and hostility between the two. "Forget it," she said. "I'll go to Ophala."

"Ophala?" Duncan asked.

"Ophala Cheldarstorn. She'll likely know more about the shards than some Dockside alchemist. After all, it doesn't sound like your friend here learned anything in his first examination of them."

"Shards?" Sand asked. "Are you speaking of those chunks of silver Duncan once showed me? You're not planning to take them to the Many-Starred Cloaks, I hope."

Carona raised her brows in parody. "Why shouldn't I?"

"Oh, no reason at all," Sand said. His voice was airy but his eyes were lit with curiosity. "They're rather busy just now, or so I hear. Perhaps you don't mind handing the shards over to some butter-fingered apprentice—or perhaps I could spare you a bit of my time."

"That's not necessary."

"No, really, I insist—"

"Let him take a look," Duncan said. Carona tightened her jaw but she pulled the two small bundles from her pocket and unwrapped the shards. Sand held out an impatient hand. She dropped them into his palm. He jerked away from her with a hoarse cry and let the shards drop to the floor. They hit the tiles with a clink that rang unnaturally loud in Carona's ears. She fell to her knees and scooped them up. _Now who's butter-fingered, elf?_

Sand staggered backward and leaned against a counter. "Wh—wh—what—?" He rubbed his hand over his face, which shone rather green under the harsh mage light of his lamps. "What in Mystra's name has happened? These are stronger than before—much stronger."

"Daeghun thinks the bladelings who attacked West Harbor are looking for these shards." She laid them on the counter. "He thinks they are using some sort of tracking spell. Is that what you feel? Could this be what has awakened power in them?"

"Bladelings?" Sand and Duncan asked in comical unison, and then she had to explain the attacks on West Harbor and on the Weeping Willow Inn.

"I suppose it's possible," Sand said. "But the spell used must be extraordinarily powerful. In fact, I cannot imagine how—but no matter. The fact is, without knowing something of the provenance and history of these shards, our speculations are mere—speculation."

"What do you mean by provenance?" Duncan asked in irritation. "I told you how we came by the shards."

"Well, obviously they are pieces of some larger artifact. A weapon, it would appear, but more than that, I could not say. We need a sage experienced in such matters, and as it happens, there is such a man here in Neverwinter. His name is Aldanon."

"And where can we find him?" Carona asked.

"Well, that is a problem, you see. He is in the Blacklake District and it is closed."


	11. Hostile Eyes Upon Her

_Author's Note: Minor revisions to incorporate the Janit storyline._

**Chapter 11…Hostile Eyes upon Her**

Until Blacklake was reopened, it seemed there was little she could do. So while Duncan returned to his tavern, Carona returned to Moire's guild house. Duncan did not want her walking the streets of the Docks alone but she insisted.

"I'm not some yokel fresh off the farm," she said. "I've lived here five years. I know what I'm doing." Actually, she had come to grief on a number of occasions but there was no point in dwelling on them, lest her new-found uncle become as protective as Khelgar.

Carona was led to the back room where Moire was perched on a desk, speaking to Caleb, one of her lieutenants. Caleb's white hair and beard were neatly trimmed and his clothes were clean and well cut. _A thug's a thug, no matter how he looks._ He stopped talking when Carona entered and met her sneer with one of his own. She'd had several run-ins with Caleb in the past, none of them pleasant.

"Ah, Carona, is it?" Moire asked, swinging her legs casually while her eyes sized her up. Moire was tall for an elf, close to Carona's height, with dark, sleek hair and a lithe, athletic figure. It was never easy to judge an elf's age but Carona guessed that she was far, far older than Daeghun. Daeghun had suffered in his long life and that pain ate away at him, yet if half the stories she'd heard were true, Moire had found satisfaction, nay, pleasure in pain—in inflicting it upon others.

"Where disaster has struck so many of your guild house, it is interesting to see that you are well," Moire said.

"Janit sent me to discover what has been happening along the coast road," she said. "I have just returned today."

"Did he? Interesting timing." The district master stared at her a long moment. Carona stared back. _What was that supposed to mean?_

"Moire, what has happened to Janit? Where are the others? I could find no one from the guild in the Merchant's Quarter."

"Janit swung from the gallows," Moire said. "And many of your fellows have been taken for the labor gangs. The rest lie low."

"I could scarce believe—but how did this happen? And why? What could Janit have done to be given such a death?"

"Does it matter? Somebody sold him out."

"Who?"

Moire gave her another long look. "There are those in the Watch who have decided to try to drive the Thieves from the city," she said softly. "They whisper in Nasher's ear that our activities are—disloyal. They have decided that harsh measures are needed to free Neverwinter from our 'parasitic activities'." Carona wasn't sure who she was quoting but Moire's eyes glittered with anger. "Janit's crime was that he showed weakness—he let his enemies walk away and he has paid for that."

"He was too soft," Caleb said scornfully.

"As for who informed against him, that I do not know," Moire said. "Yet. But when I do—" She smiled a little to herself and Carona tightened her lips.

"Will you tell me?"

"Why should I?"

Caleb laughed. "Janit's little bed-warmer is going to avenge him? That's a good one."

"Shut up," Carona growled. She turned to Moire. "Will you?"

"Perhaps," she said. "Unless, of course, I find that you are the one who betrayed your master." She raised her brows in a pleasant expression that Carona found unnerving, as Moire no doubt intended. "But meanwhile, I suppose I should find something to do with you."

"I finished Janit's task. Am I to report to you on what I learned?"

"This is concerning the missing merchant caravans?" Moire asked. "Very well, tell me what you found."

She seemed bored, as if she considered the assignment a pointless one, but Carona spoke of the bandits and the lizardfolk attacks, leaving out any mention of the bladeling attacks. She also left out any mention of Marshal Cormick's involvement, uneasily realizing that if Moire was to learn of it later, it would likely bring her suspicions to a dangerous head.

"Well, well, you've been a busy girl," Moire said at last. "So you took it upon yourself to slay this bandit leader, did you?" she asked but she didn't seem to actually expect an answer.

"It needed to be done," Carona said. "What am I to do now, Moire? Who do I report to?" she asked and just in case the point wasn't clear, she added, "Who will see to my pay?"

"Ah, your pay."

"Janit promised me two hundred gold," she said. "And with all that I accomplished, I think I deserve more than that."

"Do you? Do you have proof of what you were promised? Indeed, do you have any proof of what you claim you have done?"

"I am no merchant, to tie up my word in contracts," Carona said. "I had his hand on it."

"His hand lies buried with the rest of his body in an unmarked grave outside the city walls." She laughed. "At least until some necromancer digs him up to make him his plaything."

For a moment, Carona felt almost dizzy with rage.

"Look at her hands shake," Caleb said, with a gust of laughter. "Watch yourself, Moire, I think she's going to hit you."

Carona compressed pale lips. _The sooner my business is done with this bitch, the sooner I can get the hells out of here._ "There is no need for you to honor my agreement with Janit. Send me to whoever's taking over the district."

Moire gave another of her strange smiles. "With the unsettled state of the guild right now, no promotions are being announced." She leaned forward and spoke in a dramatic whisper. "You see, there is a _traitor_ in our midst. And until we find him—or her—" And she spread her hands wide in an assumption of helplessness.

"So what does that mean? Are you cutting me loose?"

"My dear girl, would I want to lose such a talented thief? Janit always spoke well of you, you know." Carona couldn't tell if Moire's laugh was mocking or sincere. She took a key out of the pouch at her waist and tossed it to Caleb. "Fetch me three hundred pieces of gold," she told him. "Now then," she said, once he had left the room. "With the loss of Janit and so many of your fellows, there is much to be done. If we show weakness now, the Watch will redouble their efforts to drive us from the city. There is little we can do about the mess in the Merchant Quarter at this time and Blacklake is, for all practical purposes, closed to us. But—"

"For all practical purposes?" she interrupted. "Does that mean that there is some way to enter Blacklake? I have pressing business there."

"If you serve me well, we can discuss Blacklake," she said. "For now, it is out of the question. There is much that needs to be done here in the Docks."

"I don't work the Docks," Carona said.

"You do now," Moire said coldly. Caleb returned with a heavy pouch, and from his expression, she could guess that he had short-changed her. Before she could demand a count, Moire added, "You will report to Caleb. He will detail your duties. Go now."

* * *

The next few days were very frustrating for Carona. Instead of using any of her talents, Caleb had her run menial errands and collect protection money from the minor storekeepers along the docks and even from the shoddy and illicit little stalls that popped up along the lanes near the wharves like mushrooms after a storm. The meager coppers taken from these folks hardly seemed worth the time it took to collect them. She could not understand why they bothered to squeeze people who were barely making a living as it stood. It made no sense.

In the Merchant Quarter, Janit expected these transactions to be conducted civilly. No one likes to pay taxes, official or unofficial, but protection was actually extended for what was paid. The guild provided a silent and unseen escort to merchants carrying home their till and they assimilated or eliminated freelance thugs and alley-bashers whenever they came across them. Even in the Merchant Quarter, the Watch was stretched thin and could not be relied upon. Janit's people filled a genuine need. And there were always those who required protection but could expect little but hassle from the Watch—the unlicensed money-lenders, the peddlers who dealt in smuggled goods, and the like.

It was different in the Docks. Moire's thieves were truly parasites, offended though she seemed by that word. They drained off the life's blood from the merchants and provided nothing in return. Janit had allowed and indeed expected his people to use their judgment. If a merchant had a bad run of luck and couldn't make their payment, well, sometimes that happened. To force them to go to the money-lenders and start a downward spiral of debt was not good for business. The Thieves were expected to know their clients well enough to smoke out legitimate excuses that should be forgiven from lies or pure ineptitude, neither of which should be encouraged.

But it was different in the Docks. If a merchant claimed he couldn't pay, Caleb and his bully-boys would pay him a visit and extract a toll of pain, meant more to serve as a lesson to others than as an inducement to come up with the coin. Caleb, seeing her distaste for this attitude, made sure to bring her along anytime he planned to break someone's arms or administer a beating in some back alley. Carona, certain that this was all part of some test set by Moire, grimly did what she was told (when there was no way out of it) but her dissatisfaction grew with every passing day.

Short of leaving the city, there seemed no way out. And Carona wasn't convinced that self-exile was even an option, for she thought Moire was having her watched. It seemed incredible that she could be suspected of betraying Janit and her fellow Thieves, but all too often as she was about her business, she would get the uneasy feeling that hidden eyes were upon her. As a child hunting with Daeghun, he had warned her never to stare directly at one's prey, for the beasts would feel the attention and be wary. And this was how she felt.

But perhaps it was not only her fellow guild members who watched her. On her third night in Neverwinter, she was attacked by bladelings.

Luckily she hadn't been alone. Elanee and Neeshka had joined her to go shopping at the pawn shops in the poorer sections of the Merchant's Quarter, where clothing and other useful things could be picked up cheap. Carona had little more than the clothes on her back and Neeshka, although close-lipped about it, had suffered a similar loss. Elanee also had little but that seemed a normal state for her.

On their return to the Sunken Flagon, as they passed the entrance to a dark and noxious alley, Elanee's badger, Naloch, growled. That gave Carona time to drop her purchases and pull her blade. Neeshka stood ready with a dagger in each hand as the six bladelings rushed them.

They were outnumbered and the fight might have gone badly except that Elanee, her feet planted apart, hair whipping in a wind that came out of nowhere, her face limned by the moonlight that had found its way between the tall buildings that surrounded them, brought down lightning from the night sky. For a few breaths, Carona was blinded. None of the bladelings survived the blast.

"Hells, Elanee, remind me never to get on your wrong side," Neeshka said. Elanee tried to smile but it was clear that she had been shaken badly by the attack and her own reaction to it.

"Let's get out of here before the Watch shows up," Carona said. She scooped up everyone's packages, then handed them all to Elanee so she could keep her weapon hand free. They made it back to the Sunken Flagon without incident. Neeshka settled Elanee at a table near the fireplace while Carona fetched the elf a glass of wine.

"What's wrong?" Duncan asked, seeing their worried faces. Neeshka launched into the tale but Carona left the bar to sit beside the druid.

"How are you?"

"Fine," Elanee said in a low voice. She dropped her hand to stroke Naloch's back. The badger, often surprisingly vocal, made a weird purring noise.

"No, really, Elanee, what is it?"

The druid sighed. "I'm sorry, Carona. It is just so difficult for me to be in this place, where the wood and the stone have been silenced. It is hard to call upon nature's aid here and I—I am weary." And she excused herself and went upstairs to her room, leaving her wine untouched on the table.

Carona stared after her, wondering what she should do. Before she could make up her mind, one of the local urchins came in the front door, and ignoring Sal's scowl, whispered a message in her ear. She was to go to Moire's guild house. Now.

Sighing, she levered herself to her feet, and over Khelgar and Duncan's protests, headed out into the night.

One of the thieves manning the door led her to a back room where she found Moire barefoot in leggings and a light linen shirt, sparring against two men in chain shirts. Moire fought with a rapier and wore a thick leather glove on her off hand, which she used to slap away their weapons. Her sparring partners had rapiers and parrying daggers. She had heard of the district master's prowess with a blade but this was the first time she had seen her in action. Despite herself, she was impressed. Carona had always considered the rapier a weapon preferred by duelists and those scions of the nobility who preferred their combat clean and relatively bloodless. Now she saw just how swift and deadly it could be in the hands of a skilled and agile fighter. The rapier was no toy; it was the perfect weapon for a street fighter such as herself.

"Enough," Moire said at last. Breathing heavily, her two opponents stacked their weapons and their chain shirts in the racks along the wall. Carona was left alone with Moire and Caleb. Stretching, Moire also set aside her weapon. "So," she said. "Tell me of these creatures that attacked you." She strode closer to Carona, who looked at her with surprise. There was a faint sheen of sweat on Moire's face but otherwise she seemed unaffected by her exercise.

"They are called bladelings," Carona said slowly. She hadn't expected this open confirmation that Moire was watching her.

"Bladelings. So it's true. And why are you being stalked by creatures from the outer planes? Or is it one of your traveling companions that they seek?" Carona found this alarming, and as little as she wished to speak to Moire of the shard, she had even less desire to bring any of her friends to her attention.

"They attacked West Harbor while I was there on Janit's task," she said. "They also attacked an inn in the Mere where I stayed. My father believes this has something to do with the demon attack on West Harbor that happened some twenty years ago. He sent me to consult a sage in Neverwinter to try to learn more. That is why I wish to enter the Blacklake district, by the way."

"I see. I thought perhaps the bladelings were interested in the tiefling you travel with."

"No. I didn't meet her until after the first two attacks."

"Indeed. And are they attacking all Harbormen or have they singled you out for some reason?"

"I—am not certain."

"If you insist upon lying to me, I may find myself forced to ask my questions in a more compelling manner."

She had heard too many stories about the district master to dismiss her veiled threat. It was whispered that she was a follower of the Maiden of Pain, Loviatar. Reluctantly, Carona opened her tunic and brought out the shard from the Illefarn ruins. "They may be looking for this," she said. Moire took the shard and examined it, with no apparent reaction.

"What is it?"

"I don't know," Carona said. "I hope the sage in Blacklake can tell me more."

"It looks worthless," Moire said. "You may as well hold on to it." With relief she hoped didn't show too plainly, Carona put the shard back in her pocket. "Well," Moire said, "It is interesting that bladelings have entered the city so soon after reports of demon attacks in the Blacklake district. You are aware of Lord Dalren's murder?"

"I heard some talk."

"Talk. Yes, there is talk," Moire said. She began to slowly work the glove off her right hand. Like Carona, the district master was left-handed. "But few facts are known. And I find that rather mysterious." She looked up from her glove straight into Carona's eyes. "Don't you?"

"It's nothing to do with me," Carona said uneasily. Moire said nothing. She stroked the glove in her hand for a moment and then she gave Carona a thin smile.

"So tell me, how does your work here suit you?" Carona started to drop some empty words but she had asked, after all, and Moire's steady gaze implied that she expected more than polite nothings.

"I am capable of more complex tasks."

"Indeed? More risk and more pay, is that right?"

"Of course."

"The word on the street is you are quite—flexible."

Carona ignored the innuendo and the look that passed between Moire and Caleb. "I can do more than run errands."

"Ah. Well, tell me, Carona, do you find Caleb a fair task-master?" Caleb gave a smirk but she couldn't tell if it was directed towards Moire or herself. Carona hesitated. Was this the moment to voice her complaint? Perhaps it was not, but something about this conversation was making her extremely uneasy. Perhaps a diversion was in order.

"I do have a question," she said. "Is it the custom in this district that one must endure the advances of one's fellows? For I tell you, Moire, that if Caleb continues to lay his hands upon me any time I am distracted, one of these days he will lose the use of them."

Moire laughed. "Why Caleb, my pet, have you been a naughty boy?"

He snickered. "Am I supposed to take her threat, seriously?" he asked. "Do you think I fear a skinny little bit of fluff like her?"

Carona turned to Moire—who was almost exactly her size—and raised an eloquent eyebrow. Caleb didn't seem to notice Moire's sudden sour look.

"He'll be no use to me without his hands," Moire said. "Take his gonads instead, if he continues to annoy you." Carona didn't crack a smile. Neither did the suddenly sober Caleb. "Perhaps," she continued slowly, "It will be best if you report directly to me from now on."

_Damn me for opening my mouth._


	12. Fire at the Docks

_Author's Note: Just a few minor revisions._

**Chapter 12…Fire at the Docks**

Carona stumbled into the Dock's Watch post, almost sick with pain. Moire didn't like underlings who disagreed with her plans. She _really_ didn't like underlings who vociferously disagreed with her plans and who not only refused to take part in them, but urged others to do the same. Moire was skilled at making her displeasure clearly, publicly and excruciatingly plain.

"Fire!" she cried. "You've got to get out of here before the whole building comes down." She had the hood of her cloak pulled down to hide her features, but Tymora's face was turned against her: Marshal Cormick himself emerged from a side room at the sound of her voice.

"What is this?" he asked. His eyes narrowed as if he suspected her of playing a prank. Did he think she was still a ten year old brat, lighting pig farts in the Starlings' sty? His suspicions were ill-timed for this was no natural fire. Moire had hired the services of a rogue sorceress, one of Kossuth's followers, to ensure the flames would spread voraciously.

"You must hurry," Carona gasped. "Get everyone out _now_!"

"Call the alert," he snapped to his sergeant sitting at a desk near the wall. "Wake anyone sleeping in the barracks. I'll go out and check."

Carona had already made it to the door but Cormick, with a few running steps, caught up with her. He grabbed her by the arm and jerked her around, and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.

"If this is a jest—what? Are you hurt?" he asked as he noticed the rope burns on her wrist. They were the least of her worries and his, too, as he heard the ominous roar from the side of the building. "Gods!" he said. "We've got to get the prisoners out." He released her with a push that made her stagger. "Go somewhere safe," he told her.

Somewhere safe, she thought scornfully. As if there was such a place.

* * *

She was roused from her stupor by raised voices outside her bedchamber. People were arguing. She wished they would go away. Judging by the light streaking through the shutters, it was past dawn, but not much past it.

"I don't care who you are, I won't have you disturbing my niece," Duncan said. But it was too late. The door was flung open hard enough to bang against the wall. Carona turned her head but remained lying on her belly as Cormick's bulk filled the doorway. He reeked of smoke. His clothes were ashy and his eyes were red. For a moment, he just stared at her, seemingly oblivious to Duncan's angry words in his ear. She knew Cormick often played upon his appearance as a big dumb Harborman to make people underestimate him but now his normally unexpressive features were set in righteous fury. Suddenly the room seemed very small as he strode into it like a shaggy-headed avatar of Torm.

"A good man died in that fire last night," he growled. "Get up. You're coming with me." She blinked up at him, but before she could do more than lever herself up on one arm, he yanked the blanket off, ready to jerk her off the bed. She winced.

"Ilmater's mercy!" Duncan swore as he saw her bare back. "Who has done this to you, Carona? Why didn't you say anything last night? Gods, can't the Watch do anything to protect the people in this district?" he asked, giving Cormick an angry look. He turned back to Carona. "I'll send for the healer."

"No," she said, a touch of alarm waking her up faster than irritation had. She knew Moire was having her watched and she didn't want him involved. "I'll be fine, Duncan. Don't make a fuss."

"Don't make a fuss? Lass, someone has beaten you half to death!"

"Duncan," she said wearily. "It's not that bad. Go on now. I need to speak to Cormick."

"Nay, lass, I'm not leaving you alone with him, Watch or no Watch. And besides," he added primly, "You're not dressed."

"It's nothing he hasn't seen before," she said before she thought about her words. Looking rather scandalized, Duncan finally allowed Cormick to push him out the door. He firmly closed it behind him.

Carona sank back on the bed. The pain of her beating had made it impossible to do little more than doze through what had remained of the night after she'd dragged herself back to the Flagon. Cormick stood beside the bed, the emotions on his face too mixed to analyze.

"Do you need a healer?" he asked at last. That was not what she had expected him to say.

"No."

"Lie still and let me have a better look." He opened the shutters to let in more light. The welts started at her lower back and worked all the way up to her shoulders. His hands, still chilly from being outside, probed gently at a few of the most tender spots. She had an unpleasant memory of another cold room and another time when Cormick's cold hands had pressed against her side, feeling for broken ribs. It seemed logical to think that he was remembering this as well.

Lorne had a terrible, terrible temper, and was far too prone to express it with his fists. Carona and Cormick, in their separate ways, had been too stubborn to tiptoe around his rages or to try to appease him, as others did. Sometimes Carona thought that was why Lorne had loved them both. The gods knew it was about the only thing the two of them had in common.

"Was it a whip?" Cormick asked.

"A dog quirt," she said, lip turning down a bit. "I guess it seemed appropriate." Moire had wanted to hurt her, but more so, she had wanted to humiliate.

"A dog quirt." She couldn't tell if he was angry or exasperated. "What happened?"

"None of your business, Cormick."

He made a noncommittal grunt. There was only one chair in the room, and he pulled it over and sat. She tugged at the sheet so it covered her chest but left her back bare.

"Seems like you've threatened to take one to me a time or two," she added, with an attempt at a smile. "Or were you going to cane me? I forget."

"That was a long time ago," he said. Some of the anger had bled out of his face and for a moment, under the worry and frustration, she thought she caught a flicker of humor. "And probably about what you deserved. You were the most obnoxious imp in the Nine Hells." He continued to gaze at her.

"No doubt," she said. "So, am I under arrest?"

"There is a lot of anger in the Watch over this fire," he said. "The post was burned to the ground. Lieutenant Roe died, trying to bring prisoners out of the lower level. Other good men were injured as well. If I bring you in for suspicion of this, even for questioning, you may not live long enough to see a courtroom."

He was probably right, she thought, although getting strung up by vengeful Watchmen was likely to be the least of her worries.

"But I must ask, Carona. Did you set that fire?"

"No."

He studied her with searching eyes. "Were you involved in any way with the planning or execution of this arson?"

"No."

"But you knew enough to warn us."

"I was passing by and saw the flames. That's all."

"You just happened to be strolling by the Watch post, in your—condition, just as the fire broke out?" In a sarcastic drawl, he added, "Perhaps you had come to lodge a complaint against whoever assaulted you?"

"I was on my way home."

"Right. And you just happened to be the first to see the fire, before any of my patrolling Watchmen did?"

The patrolling Watchmen, deep in Moire's pocket, had no doubt already come up with their excuses for their dereliction of duty. Whether those excuses would hold up to the Marshal's questions was not her problem. She had told Moire this was a stupid thing to do. Under the lash, she had screamed it.

"I didn't see any Watchmen or I would have told them instead of coming inside to warn you. Believe me; I had no desire to drop in on you in the lock-up—then or ever." She hadn't meant to speak so bitterly but considering what she had already suffered, it seemed more than a little unfair to have to take Cormick's accusations as well.

"That I believe." Restless, he rose from the chair and opened the shutters a bit wider so he could look out the window. Cold air blasted through the room, making her shiver. Cormick didn't seem to notice. He had never been sensitive to the cold. There wasn't much of a view, since the back of the Sunken Flagon faced a warehouse, but if she stood in the right place, she could see a sliver of the sea. Often she could see the masts of ships as they left the harbor.

"You really think I'd do that?" she asked. "You think I'd set a building on fire—with you inside? Gods, Cormick, you don't think much of me, do you?"

"If I've learned one thing during my years in the Watch, it's that you never know what people are capable of doing until they do it."

"I suppose you're right. What a couple of cynics we've become. What would Brother Merring say if he saw us now?"

"Oh, I don't know. It works both ways. I've seen remarkable, even heroic actions from the unlikeliest of people."

Carona threw back the covers and started the laborious process of working herself out of bed with the least amount of pain. A dog quirt didn't actually do a lot of damage but it could raise a good welt if its wielder was sufficiently determined. Cormick turned his head to watch her.

"Oh for pity's sake, you need to stay in bed until you've healed up a bit."

"I thought you were here to arrest me," she said, grimacing as she finally sat up. "Besides, it will do me more good to move around than to lie here." She gave him the ghost of a smile. "I can't afford to stiffen up in my line of work, you know." He narrowed his eyes, unamused. "I heal quickly, as you may recall." He continued to watch as she shuffled over to her dresser.

"Oh for—can you even lift your arms?" he asked.

"I'm not sure I want to find out." His frown deepened. He opened the drawer for her and pulled out a linen shirt. It was the only clean one she had left. He held it out while she slid her arms in the sleeves then, over her mild protest, fastened the ties for her. He also helped her get into her breeches and boots, which was embarrassing but necessary. Although his attitude was very matter-of-fact, the unexpected intimacy brought a flush to Carona's face. She couldn't make herself meet his eyes. He averted his gaze as well.

"Still as tidy as ever," he noted as he looked around the stark room. She hardly had enough belongings to make a mess with, she thought dryly.

"An enduring legacy from my life with Daeghun," she said. "Duncan is shockingly different however."

"In more ways than one, no doubt," he replied absently, looking down into her face. "It is hard to believe they are brothers."

Carona knew without asking that he, too, was thinking of Lorne and of that disastrous winter when the three of them had lived together in the slums of the Beggar's Nest. Lorne, in his perennial belief that Faerûn would order itself to his own desires, had believed he could live with his lover and his ex-lover without repercussion. She and Cormick had both known better but Lorne could be quite persuasive when he chose and those had been desperate, war-torn times. None of them had wanted to be alone.

Cormick sighed but then he was back to business. "The Thieves have gone too far this time. The Docks have always been a problem and our resources are stretched then, but Nasher and the Council will not stand for this. There will be war now, and Carona—do not get caught up in it. I know or can guess some of what your life has been like here in the city." His words were a clear warning. "But you can rise above this. It is not too late for you to step away from the choices you have made." And then once again, he looked out the window but his eyes were unfocused. "I don't want to see you on the work gangs, Carona. Or worse."

Would Cormick really send her to the gallows? Like Janit? Carona didn't know. Like he had said, you never knew what someone was capable of doing until he did it.

Did he really think she could just walk away from the Thieves Guild? Still, after last night, that idea had appeal. She had defied Moire and she had paid the price for that. And now they would be watching her closer than ever. The best she could hope for now was to get sent somewhere out of the city, somewhere far away from Moire and her crazed temper.

* * *

After a day of lurking around the Sunken Flagon and with the aid of a potion Duncan bought from Sand, Carona felt almost decent again. At least, she did until the men in cloaks came for her.

They must have been watching the inn, for they caught her that evening as she walked out to the back alley to dump the slops from dinner. She assumed they were Moire's men, for who else would take her? All she knew for certain was that they weren't bladelings. All three wore hooded cloaks, and when the one who seemed to be in charge dropped his hood, she saw that he wore a mask beneath it. It was a fancy mask, like one would wear to a party, made of dark velvet and glittering with small gems, and the sight of it sent a chill racing up her spine.

What kind of thief would wear a mask, and such a mask? One who was dedicated to the Master of All Thieves, perhaps?

"Come," the masked man said. Before she could yell or run, one of his companions grabbed her arms. She felt the prick of a blade against her side. "Come quietly," he said, "And you will not be hurt." He spoke with a slight accent that she couldn't immediately identify.

She was led down the dark alley to a waiting coach and bundled inside before she could get a good look at it. It was drawn by two horses but she didn't get a good look at the driver either. Closed carriages were something of a rarity in the Docks. She had never ridden in one before. It was much less comfortable than she would have guessed from watching them pass by but perhaps that was because of the poor repair of the cobbled street.

"If you permit," the leader said politely, but no permission was expected as he leaned forward and fastened a mask over her face. Unlike the mask he wore, this one had no eye holes.

"Why—" she began but a finger on her lips silenced her.

"I apologize for the need for secrecy," the masked man said. "Explanations will be made when we reach the meeting place."

So they rode in silence, and Carona used her ears to guess their destination. They were still in the city, for surely they would have been hailed by the Greycloaks at the gates. They crossed a bridge. They were somewhere in the Merchant Quarter, she guessed, when the carriage rolled to a stop. A hand at her elbow guided her down from the carriage. Her blindfold wasn't removed until she was inside a building. A warehouse, she guessed, once she was able to look around but what was stored here she could not tell. One of the men had a small shuttered lantern but the light from its one open shutter did not penetrate far into the shadows that surrounded them.

"This way," the masked man told her and she followed him to what she assumed was the warehouse's ledger room or office. She cringed when she heard Moire's angry voice.

"I do not appreciate having my time wasted," she was saying. She saw Carona and her face turned cold with fury.

"My apologies for the delay," said the masked man. Carona still could not place his accent. Moire bit off whatever she was about to say. At the masked man's nod, the man who had pricked her with his knife moved to stand by the door.

"What is this about?" Moire snapped. There were several chairs in the room but no one sat. There was too much tension for that.

"I believe you know what we are here to discuss," the masked man said. "If you refer to this subterfuge," and he touched his mask, "Your young apprentice here is not privy to our secrets, nor do I think she should be at this time."

"This cur is no apprentice of mine," Moire snarled. "She is a disobedient whelp who has had but a taste of the banquet that awaits those who defy me."

"If her only crime is standing against the madness you perpetrated last night, then perhaps instead of your apprentice, she should be your master. Fool!"

"The Watch needed a reminder of who actually rules the Docks. We have shown them just how weak they are."

"There is no profit in bloodshed and destruction, Moire. What you have done is far more likely to strengthen their resolve than to bend them to our wishes."

"You are mistaken. If you had been here five years ago when the Luskans were at our gate, you would know just how little resolve the Watch has."

"We will not argue this further. The Watch is not our enemy and we are not at war, but because of your short-sighted actions, we must now arm ourselves like warriors." And then the man turned to look at Carona. She saw intense dark eyes through the holes in the mask.

"Sometime in the next few days, a ship will arrive. Hidden within its cargo are crates of arms and armor for our people. Arrangements have already been made to bypass the normal unloading inspection but these supplies must be moved and delivered to one of our warehouses in secrecy." He turned to Moire and there was a rebuke in his voice. "This will be done without alerting the Watch and without the need for a bloodbath." To Carona, he said, "I want you and Moire to plan and execute this together."

* * *

The carriage delivered Moire and Carona to the guild house in the Docks. They had both been quiet during the ride and Carona followed her inside with a feeling of dread. This intensified when they walked past the spot where Moire had strung her up and beaten her in front of any in the guild who had cared to watch. However, the district master walked briskly past without as much as a smirk and her expression was thoughtful rather than angry.

"Now you have met our guild master," she said, once they were in the privacy of her office. "He and I do not see eye to eye in all matters, as you no doubt realize."

"So I gathered."

"Yes. His methods have served well enough in other places. Whether they will serve in Neverwinter remains to be seen." And she gave a graceful shrug. Carona, who had been raised by an elf, had seen that look before. It was the look that one of a long-lived race gave in the face of short-lived human folly. Carona stifled a familiar surge of human resentment.

"You have brought yourself to our master's attention and are now under his protection, to some extent. To what extent, also remains to be seen. At any rate, let us plan."


	13. A Misplaced Emissary

_Author's Note: Can you tell I hated this part of the game? Even with the many liberties I've taken, I'm still not happy so I guess I'll share the misery…_

**Chapter 13…A Misplaced Emissary**

"Old Owl Well? Where in the Nine Hells is that?" Carona asked.

When Carona had been brought to this meeting with her guild master, she had hoped he was going to reward her for the handling of the weapons shipment and its aftermath. Moire had taken what was thought to be the trickier task of secretly unloading the weapons from the ship and Carona was to deliver them from one of the back alleys in the docks to the distribution point in the Merchant's Quarter. Although Moire's ideas for the movement of the weapons had seemed sound enough, Carona had suspected she might plant some little unpleasant surprise along the way as a 'test', one that would make her look incompetent in their guild master's eyes. So she had asked Neeshka, unknown to any of the Thieves, to scout ahead. That little bit of paranoia saved them all. Neeshka discovered the ambush the Watch had set in the warehouse before Carona and the four thieves assigned by Moire (chosen for their strong backs and not their quick wits) blundered into it.

Moire had threatened to flay the skin from her back when she learned that Carona, in a panic, had hidden the crates in a burned out husk of a building at the district border instead of delivering them as promised. Her fury rose to white-hot pitch but changed its focus when her own scout did not return from the warehouse. Later her spies discovered that the raid had been led by one of Nasher's Nine, supplemented by an entire squad of Greycloaks and a handful of Tyrran battle clerics from the Hall of Justice. If they had entered that warehouse, they would have been taken—and that would likely have precipitated the bloodbath that their guild master said he wished to avoid.

Since Janit's betrayal, they had known that there was a highly-placed informer in their ranks. This new betrayal pointed suspicion to Fihelis, the man who owned and managed the warehouses for the guild's activities. It was he who had arranged for the weapons shipment to bypass the harbor inspection and it was he who had chosen the delivery point. He had, of course, also been privy to the timing of the delivery, since he had been tasked to keep his workers out of the way.

Strong suspicion gave way to certainty when Moire learned that the Watch held Fihelis under protective guard at his own estate. According to her informants, he was slated to testify before Nasher's court. Unfortunately none of her contacts could get her inside to deal with the traitor. Supposedly Sir Darmon of the Nine, concerned with the corruption so rampant in the Watch, had personally selected Fihelis' guards. He had then passed them all before Nasher's justiciar, a cleric of Tyr, for a loyalty test of some sort. But Moire was determined to deal with Fihelis. She had a passing familiarity with the house and although she had no luck bribing the Watchmen, she had been able to question the housemaids.

"The doors are heavily guarded and all the windows are warded, even those on the upper floor and the attic," she had told Carona. They were in the park watching the house. It was late in the evening and no one had gone in or out in quite awhile. "They've trapped and warded the chimneys in the kitchen and the great hall against entry. The maids complain that the house is cold and that no one is allowed to cook or even heat water."

"But I saw smoke from one of the chimneys earlier." Moire chuckled low in her ear.

"Yes. I noticed that. The chimney at the side of the house is too narrow for an assassin to enter—they believe. Yet even so, they have kept a fire burning in Fihelis' bedroom night and day as a precaution. Unusually vigilant, this Sir Darmon, don't you think?" Carona didn't reply. She wondered if Cormick was on guard with the Watchmen inside. He could pass a loyalty test, no doubt about that. Moire moved closer and leaned against her.

"I will have Fihelis tonight," she said. "If I have to send a hundred thieves into that house, I will do it. But our master prefers that I send one and do the job neatly."

Carona gave her a guarded look and tried to edge away. Moire put her hand on her shoulder to hold her still.

"If protected from fire, could someone our size crawl down that bedroom chimney and back up again?" she asked.

"Almost certainly," Carona said. She had done so several times in her early housebreaking days, although never when there was a fire in the hearth. "It is not so much a matter of size as knowing the tricks for moving in tight places."

"You know these tricks." It was not a question. Carona felt Moire's breath warm on her face but it chilled her.

"I'm not going in there. I'm no assassin."

"Now don't be coy," Moire said. "You told me yourself of your murder of that bandit near Fort Locke. You slew him in his bed, did you not?"

"That was different," she said uneasily. "I didn't plan to kill him. I went there to talk but then he gave me little choice."

"And what choice do you think you have now?" The elf's hand gripped her shoulder hard. The threat hung heavy between them. Moire's eyes gleamed in the near darkness and her voice became cajoling. "I'm not asking you to torture, although he surely has earned it. Don't you wish to avenge Janit's death? If Fihelis lives to testify, who knows, it could be your head in the noose next."

_No, it's probably your head that's next_, Carona thought, but she had to admit that Moire had a point.

"And if you refuse me this task, it will be _my_ task to discipline you." Moire's hand stroked her cheek in a mocking caress. "Are you so eager to bare your back to me again?"

Carona pulled away with a shudder. No, she was not. Her fingers were cold as they closed around the thin vial Moire pressed into her hand.

"How long does the potion last?" she asked.

"I would suggest you do not dawdle."

"Will it protect my clothes from fire as well?"

"I doubt it." Moire gave another of her low laughs. "Kill Fihelis and I will buy you a fine new pair of boots. Go now. You'd best move quickly."

Climbing to the roof without making a racket had been the most difficult part.

Fihelis had been asleep in his bed but judging by the state of the bedcovers, he had not slept well. He woke when she put her hand over his mouth. He jerked in terror but Carona fancied that her own heart was beating every bit as frantically as his. She forced herself to look into his face, feeling sick. Then she recognized him. She had not known his name but she had seen him with Janit several times. Her former master had greeted him as a friend. He had trusted Fihelis and now he was dead—and it was Janit's death that had thrown her into Moire's hands. Perhaps it was Janit's death that had precipitated the burning of the Watch post and had led to this war against the Thieves' Guild. Fihelis had much to answer for.

The surge of hatred that swelled in her heart brought an almost dizzying sense of relief. The traitor's eyes were tired and resigned. He didn't struggle, not even when he saw her blade. It would have been easier if he had fought back, Carona thought with fresh resentment. She killed him with one savage stroke and left as silently as she had entered.

That had been two days ago and only now did her guild master summon her. But apparently she wasn't here to be praised or admonished; she was here to be given another task. Carona shook her head free of intrusive memories and put on a show of attentiveness as her master, face hidden behind another elegant mask, spread out a map.

"Old Owl Well is in the middle of nowhere," Carona said, once she'd figured out the scale and measured off distances with her fingers.

"It's in the middle of orc lands," he corrected. "With the recent problems along the High Road, Nasher has decided it is finally time to retake the well and secure the trade route to Yartar. His peasant recruits, even under the leadership of one of his more experienced commanders, are going to find that a hard nut to crack, I fear. The orcs have held the region for years now and are present in great numbers. One of my people is there as my eyes in the Greycloak camp, and the messages she sends me are not encouraging."

"What do you need of me?"

"Waterdeep is sending a new emissary to Neverwinter and he is now overdue," the guild master said. "I have scouts out looking for him along the High Road but it seems likely that he has taken the route through Old Owl Well. With the orcs stirred up by the presence of Nasher's troops, his plans for a quiet and secret passage have no doubt failed disastrously."

"Do you think the orcs have killed him?"

"They are more likely to hold him for ransom, for gold or perhaps in exchange for a withdrawal of the Greycloak forces. Or perhaps Issani is simply holed up somewhere, delayed—I do not know. I want you to find him and bring him back to Neverwinter. I want him indebted to me, not to Nasher."

"And if he is dead?"

"Then bring back what proofs you can find of his death. Waterdeep will send another emissary if Issani is killed and we must be ready."

"I will do my best," she said a bit doubtfully. "But it seems like someone familiar with the area would be a better choice."

"Perhaps that is so," he said, "But I am aware of what you accomplished with the problems along the coast road not so long ago. I have faith in your…resourcefulness."

For one who had been raised in the swamps of the Mere, the prospect of venturing into the arid badlands that surrounded Old Owl Well was not exactly appealing. In fact, it was frightening. However, Carona had to admit that this was an excellent time to leave Neverwinter. She now spent a significant daily effort evading Marshal Cormick. He would show up at the Flagon at random times, hoping to catch her in and he had left countless messages, increasingly terse and irritated in tone. She did not know how much involvement he suspected she had in the recent doings of the Thieves' Guild, but he suspected something, and that was too much. If he kept poking around, she was afraid that the guild master might decide to lift his prohibition on direct attacks against members of the Watch. She knew that Moire would jump at the chance to eliminate the marshal, once and for all.

Also, she was no closer to earning entry to Blacklake. Another noble had been killed, a Lord Brennick, and the district was locked down tighter than ever. 'Soon', she was promised every time she asked Moire for a way in, but with every chore she performed for the guild, she was still given the same answer: soon.

And she was not the only one having problems in Neverwinter. She and Neeshka had been attacked twice by thugs sent by Neeshka's old partner, Leldon. Carona had actually had an unpleasant run-in with the man in her early days in Neverwinter, back before she had joined the guild. Then he had been a simple housebreaker but although he had grown in power and influence, he was apparently still a bully. At any rate, he and Neeshka had had a falling out. The tiefling went vague on the details, but Carona gathered she had exacted some sort of double-cross on Leldon and he had driven her out of Neverwinter. Now that she had returned, he would only be satisfied with blood. Neeshka spent more time brooding over this than Carona thought healthy but ever since the burning of the Watch post, the tiefling had lost her desire to join the Thieves' Guild. She now seemed to expect Carona to protect her.

Then there was Khelgar. Still angry about his rejection by the monks of Tyr, he relieved his resentment in bar-fighting. Training, he called it, but Carona knew frustration when she saw it. Lorne had gone through a similar stage when they had first come to Neverwinter, when he had learned that his size and his strength would not win him the preferment he thought his due.

Evening after evening, Khelgar would return to the Flagon with bruised knuckles and minor injuries, reeking of ale and full of bluster. One day, rather shame-faced, he asked Carona if he could change his mind about accepting a share of the take from their raid on the bandit camp at Fort Locke. He had damages to pay in half a dozen bars and if he didn't come up with some coin, the Watch would take him in for debt. Flush with the blood money from killing Fihelis, she gave him the coin he needed but she had the unworthy thought that a stint with the work gangs might do him some good. If he didn't find gainful occupation, he was going to dig himself a deep pit full of trouble, she feared.

Elanee was another problem. The druid was miserable in the city, but she had nowhere to go. She had left in search of the druids who guarded Neverwinter Woods, and she returned to say that they would not speak to her. They had hidden themselves like frightened children, as if the shadow that darkened the Mere was a plague that could be transmitted from her very presence. She clung to Carona as if she were her only hope.

"Something has built a black wall in the Mere," she told Carona one night. "I cannot go back there. All it touches, withers and dies…and this shadow is slowly growing. It advances from the heart of the Mere and drives all life before it. And without life, without the land to aid us, one who tries to cross that wall is consumed by it." There was a slight tremor in her hands and Carona remembered Kaleil, Elanee's friend who had been trapped in the form of a rabid beast.

Carona gave Elanee a worried look. If the shadow was truly growing, would it reach West Harbor one day? How would it affect the village? Surely Daeghun, so wise in the ways of the Mere, would recognize the danger in time, she thought fretfully. He would do…something.

"I don't know what we can do about this, Elanee."

"Nor do I. I had hoped that the druids of Neverwinter Wood could advise me…but now I don't know. I fear they know no more than I. Such things are not born of the land. This shadow is a blight, a presence from somewhere else. I believe this blight is somehow tied to the bladeling attacks throughout the Mere. I started following them in the hopes to learn something that could help. They led me to you."

"We are no closer to understanding where they come from or what they really want." Carona's hand unconsciously rose to the shards that she kept in the breast pocket of her tunic.

"No. But these bladelings are the key, I feel it. Perhaps only by reaching beyond the land, into the libraries and tomes here in the city, can such mysteries be made clear. But I have no way to do this on my own. I am lost here. I…I rely upon you, Carona."

At any rate, all three of them were easily persuaded to travel with her. That left the logistical problems. Because this mission was urgent, it made sense that they should ride instead of walk, but none of them knew much of anything about horses—selecting them, outfitting them, caring for them, or riding them. Somewhat to Carona's surprise, Duncan came to their rescue. She kept forgetting that he had been an adventurer once.

"Well, if you're going into the Sword Mountains, you're going to want donkeys, not horses," he said, exasperated. Since Carona could tell him little of the real reasons for the expedition, he was understandably irritated with the whole idea. "You're going to need to carry plenty of water. Where are you planning to refill your water skins?" At their blank looks, he sighed. He ended up drawing them a sketchy map, marking proposed spots for camping. He set them up with a friend of his, a caravan leader, who arranged for the rental of the mules, and (after a quick consultation with Duncan) also hired them a guide, to serve as a groom and riding instructor and to make sure they didn't end up killing or losing their mounts.

This and the provisions they needed flattened Carona's coin purse. She had already sold most of the jewelry she and Neeshka had taken from the bandits' lair. If they were successful, the guild would pay handsomely but if they did not find the emissary before the Greycloaks, there was no assurance that the guild would reimburse any of their expenses, much less pay for their time and effort.

"Lass," Duncan said, breaking into her thoughts. He carried two mugs of ale. He placed one in front of her and then took a seat beside her at the table near the back of the room that she had come to think of as hers. She had certainly made herself at home in the Sunken Flagon, she realized, she and her companions as well. She had no idea how Duncan felt about that.

"Thanks," she said. She took a long swallow. "I never intended us to impose on your hospitality so long," she said in a burst of candor. "It's just that…" He waved her words aside.

"Don't be speaking of hospitality," he said. "You're kin. Where else would you stay?"

"Daeghun may have taken me in, but I'm not his daughter." There was the lilt of a question in her statement. Her hand touched the top of her ear, with its barely noticeable pointed tip. "I'm no true kin of yours." Her eyes lifted from her mug to meet his and she softly asked, "Am I?"

He had raised his mug to his lips. He set it down. There was an odd expression on his face.

"Daeghun took you in and that makes you my kin," he said firmly. "But lass, I've come to speak of something else. What in the Nine Hells is going on between you and Marshal Cormick?"

"Nothing." It was her turn to be evasive.

"Nothing, eh? Now don't tell lies to your Uncle Duncan. If he's been by once, he's been by a dozen times looking for you in the last few days. Lass, he's a pig-headed Harborman. He's not going to give up just because you keep avoiding him. Go see him."

"I really can't do that."

"If he was here to arrest you, he'd have his men take you in the street." Carona gave him a startled look. "Aye, lass, I've a fair notion of how you make your living," he said, a faint smile tugging his lip. "I've seen you with Caleb and a few others. I've lived in the Docks for years now. I know most of his lads by face if not by name." He held up his hand before she could interrupt. "Tyr can judge you—that's not my place. I'm just saying that if you continue to run away from Cormick instead of facing him, he can make your life here very, very difficult."

Carona sighed. Wasn't her life difficult enough? How could Cormick do anything but add to her problems?


	14. A Chat with the Marshal

_Author's Note: It's been awhile since I've updated this story and I apologize, Dear Reader. I'm trying to finish off The Knight and the Warlock, but I didn't want to totally neglect this tale. Unfortunately this chapter ended up deviating quite a bit from my NaNo draft and that has slowed me down. I am rather pleased with the changes though._

**Chapter 14…A Chat with the Marshal**

At this hour, it seemed likely that Cormick would be home in his lodgings and if he wasn't—well, she'd just have to leave him a message. He was now working out of the Watch headquarters in the Merchant's Quarter and there was no way Carona was going to meet him there, no matter how much Duncan prodded her.

The house where Galen and Cormick roomed was, as she had suspected, one of the big old mansions built by some rich merchant—a ship owner perhaps, who wanted a home conveniently close to the docks. Now, of course, most merchants worth their salt wanted to live within spitting distance of Blacklake. Once this neighborhood had become unfashionable, it wasn't long before it started its slide into decay. This particular house, however, continued to be well-maintained, with neatly trimmed shrubs and a pretty little pleasure garden in the back. There was a porter at the door as well, who had the look of an old sailor about him. Yes, the marshal was in, he told her, knocking the dottle out of his pipe. He eyed her up and down then gave her a toothless grin.

"Up the stairs, last door on the right, knock before you go in and make sure to wipe your boots on that there mat, missy. I just swabbed out the hall this afternoon."

Carona had begun to wonder if the porter wasn't mistaken, she had to wait so long for her knock to be answered. But finally Cormick opened the door, in his shirt sleeves despite the chill. For a moment he just stared as if he'd never seen her before.

"Is this a bad time?" she asked breezily. "I heard you were looking for me."

"Oh, did you?" he asked, giving her the eye. No doubt he intimidated hardened criminals on a daily basis but this look was nothing new to her. Her own conscience was far from clear but then it never was. She gave him a wide-eyed look in return. He shook his head a little in mild exasperation. "Come on in."

"I brought you something," she said, opening her string bag. She handed him the bottle. "It's mead that I swiped from Duncan's cellar. Note that I'm confessing to a crime." He snorted.

"Guess I'd better examine the evidence." She followed him into the sitting room, which was more spacious than she had expected. The room had high ceilings, white-washed to make the room seem even larger. The walls had been paneled in a light colored wood and the furniture looked comfortably inviting. With the shutters closed tight and a fire burning in the fireplace, the room was bright and cheerful. Cormick fetched two mugs from a cabinet by the door and worked the cork out of the bottle.

"Where's Galen?" she asked, as she took the mug he offered. She curled up on the sofa by the fireplace. After a slight hesitation, he joined her.

"Out visiting an old friend. They'll talk half the night, no doubt, and then he'll stay over. They're probably both drunk by now and besides, it's not safe to walk the streets at night anymore, drunk or sober." He spoke lightly but some undercurrent in his voice made her wonder if all was well between the two of them. But that wasn't her problem.

"Never a Watchman around when you need one," she said pleasantly. Cormick gave her a hard look. "You wanted to see me about something?"

"I thought perhaps you would be interested in what I've learned about this shard of yours and about the Shadow Priest we killed in Highcliff. But I suppose you have been far too busy with your own pursuits to worry about such trivial matters."

"But…Blacklake is closed," she said, and even as she spoke the words, she could see by his expression that she had been a fool. "Oh, gods," she said. "It's not closed to the Marshal of the Watch, is it?" Cormick smiled a little at her stunned expression.

"I delivered the spell book to the Cloaktower and I also spoke to the sage Aldanon, describing the shard you showed me and asking if he had any knowledge of it." He smiled again and took a slow sip of his mead. He settled back on the couch, stretched his legs towards the fire and let the silence drag out.

"Well?" she asked impatiently.

"He was very excited," Cormick said. "So excited, in fact, that I could barely understand what he was trying to tell me. It was far too much for a dumb old Watch hound to grasp." He stared up at the ceiling as if he saw something fascinating written there. His lips curved in the smallest of smiles.

"Cormick!" Carona jabbed him with her elbow.

"He has a similar shard."

"You jest!"

"Nope. He showed it to me. Looked like enough to me, but then any chunk of silver would look the same I suppose. He said it was magic though. Well, actually he said a lot more than that, but that was what I got out of it."

"Where did he get the shard?"

Cormick frowned.

"Someone brought it to him but he couldn't recall the man's name. Aldanon is rather…absent minded, I guess you'd say."

"It seems such an odd coincidence. Too odd to really be a coincidence at all, don't you think?" Cormick nodded.

"I've seen stranger coincidences but yes, I agree that the timing is suspicious. I asked Aldanon to send me a message if the man returns for his shard and I asked the Blacklake Watch to keep a closer eye on the house. Just in case. At any rate, Aldanon is running tests and doing research on the shard now and he is extremely interested in seeing yours. He feels that he might learn more if he had the two to compare. I will take it to him, if you like."

"No," was her immediate response. Cormick raised his brows at her sharp tone. "I…don't think that will be wise," she said more mildly. "Daeghun thinks there may be a tracking spell of some sort on the shard and if he's right—well, we would risk bringing the bladelings down on the sage." Of course, she had Duncan's shard as well, and there was no particular reason to believe the bladelings were tracking it. Still, the thought of letting either shard out of her control made her squirm.

"So you'd rather risk bringing bladelings down on yourself? You should let the Watch handle this, Carona. Perhaps the Cloaktower can do something…"

"I'll think about it."

"I don't understand you," he said. "Surely you'd like to rid yourself of this problem. The Watch has resources you don't and if this shard is somehow connected to the attacks in the Mere...well, it is important that we find some answers."

Carona wondered if she was being unreasonable. She suspected she was. If giving up the shards would get the bladelings off her back, surely that would be a good thing. Yet what if they continued to chase her? Without the shards, she would have nothing to bargain with and besides…she didn't want to give them up. It felt good to hold them. It felt right. She didn't want to give them away; particularly not to some absent-minded sage she had never even met. Besides, once out of her hands, it seemed unlikely that the Watch would ever return them.

"Get me into Blacklake then and maybe we will all find some answers."

Cormick studied her face a long moment. The humor had left his face, leaving his eyes serious and searching.

"You know I can't do that," he finally said. They sat quietly and drank the mead.

"Surely Blacklake will be opened soon," she said, fishing for information.

"I have no idea." She thought he would say more but he gave her a sideways look and then moved to refill their mugs instead.

"What about the spell book?" she asked with less enthusiasm. "Did the mages learn anything?"

"They didn't have much to say, not yet, anyway. One thing they did say, you might find interesting. Highcliff Castle was destroyed in an attack by the King of Shadows some twenty years ago. There is residual power in the ruins from that attack, and the necromancer had found a way to tap into that power. There are similar 'hot spots', they called them, near Fort Locke and West Harbor and elsewhere in the Mere. I believe several of the Cloaktower Mages are heading down the coast road to see if they can learn anything more."

"I really appreciate you finding this out for me." Cormick gave her one of his flat looks.

"I didn't do it for you, exactly."

"Oh, of course. I forgot. Everything you do is for the greater good of all. You're not stupid and selfish like the rest of us." She had meant to speak in a teasing tone but somehow the words came out harsh.

"I didn't say that. I've never said that." His expression didn't change much except for his eyes. "I don't like hearing Lorne's words in your mouth."

"Sorry."

Cormick gave her another of his sideways looks. Carona felt her heart sink a little before he even opened his mouth.

"Carona, you're not stupid. You're very talented, in fact. I don't understand…why don't you do something with your life?"

"I am doing something with my life."

"I meant something worthwhile. This business with the Night Wings is all well and good, I suppose, but surely…"

"Drop it, Cormick."

He gave her a frustrated look.

"You could do so much more."

"I said drop it." Carona set down her mug and started to rise. He took her hand and pulled her back down on the couch.

"There are other things we should speak of," he said. "I gave you some advice a few days ago but I do not see that you have taken it."

"People are always giving me advice. I'm not sure why."

"This is no jest, Carona. I will tell you plain: step away from the Thieves or you will regret it."

"Is that a threat?" He gave her a warning shake of the head.

"You're mixed up with the wrong people, Carona. They are up to more than petty thievery and tricks. There are murderers amongst them. I hear rumors of a cult of Mask in our city and…" He stopped and grabbed both her hands. "Don't roll your eyes at me, for pity's sake. I'm serious. I don't want to see you throw your life away. We've lost Lorne—I don't want to lose you too."

He was still holding her hands and when she tried to pull away, he tightened his grip. His eyes were concerned, almost as if he cared anything about what happened to her. She wondered how he would feel if he knew some of the things she had done in the past and especially more recently. And suddenly her long repressed anger flared up.

Carona snatched her hands away.

"Damn you for a hypocrite, Cormick. Lorne would have never joined the Greycloaks if you hadn't thrown him out of the Watch. You know that as well as I do. He didn't throw his life away—you did."

Cormick had turned as pale as his ruddy complexion would allow.

"He gave me no choice."

"Oh, you had a choice all right. And you made it."

"It was not so simple."

"Yeah, sure. You keep telling yourself that, hound."

"A man died, Carona. Was I supposed to pretend that nothing happened?" Carona hunched her shoulders.

"It was an accident," she finally said. "You could have let it slide."

"Lorne was in the wrong. He had been abusing his position for some time. There had been complaints and…" He sighed and ran his hand through his already disheveled hair. "I let a lot of things slide because I…because of our friendship. Maybe that was a mistake."

Carona let out a scornful 'hah' of breath.

"He was under my command, Carona! I guess he thought he could do whatever he pleased and I would lie and cover for him. And I did, for a while, hells take me. But he went too far."

"Lorne didn't mean to kill that man."

"Maybe not but it never would have happened if he had been doing his job. He had no business drinking in a bar while on duty in the first place and…"

"I don't mean to shock you but lots of Watch hounds drink on duty," Carona said dryly.

"He hadn't just stopped in for a quick drink to get out of the cold. He'd been there all shift long, Carona, drinking heavily and the barkeep said he'd been belligerent to other customers. Lorne was drunk, and he killed a man. And by all accounts, that fight was not unprovoked." Cormick's voice was stern and angry. "If he had been brought up on charges, he might have swung for it. He got off easy. All I asked of him was to turn in his cloak."

"He got off easy? We were at war. Joining the Greycloaks was a death sentence and you knew it."

"It was his choice—to defend the city. Maybe he was trying to…atone. I don't know. At least he got the chance to die with honor. That's more than the man he killed got."

"Gods. You and your honor. Do you really believe Lorne was trying to 'atone' for anything? He was pissed, Cormick, and he joined the Greycloaks to spite you and show you up, and that's all. And he wanted to impress you with his spiffy uniform. Trust me—he hadn't the slightest desire to seek out an honorable death on the battlefield." That Cormick could still be so naïve after all these years was astonishing to Carona. "Lorne never thought he'd die. He thought the gods favored him. He fully believed he would be promoted within a ten-day of service and was no doubt looking ahead to being invited into the Neverwinter Nine and lording it over us both."

"Do you really believe that?" Carona gave a bitter laugh.

"Oh, yeah. You didn't know him very well, did you?"

"I…doubt that I did," he said heavily. There was regret and unhappiness on his face and weariness as well. For some reason that made Carona even angrier. She stood and stared down at him.

"Well, let me tell you something, Cormick. You don't know me very well either. Because you have been sitting there looking at me like you think I can change. It's too late, Cormick. It was too late for Lorne and it's too late for me. Do you think I can step away from my life and start doing my _duty_, whatever the hells that is?"

"That is exactly what I think."

"Then you are a fool."


	15. The Katalmach

_Author's Note: I've come mighty close to scrapping this whole lifeless, uncooperative chapter. [Insert cuss words here. Ahem. Pardon my Illuskan. Now that I'm about done, I think I've figured out what's wrong—this chapter's terribly short on dialog (which is what I love to write) and action (which I have a love/hate relationship with, LOL). But I can't figure out a good way around it so…let's soldier on, shall we? Feel free to drop me a scathing review. I promise that the _next_ chapter is packed with both action _and_ dialog!_

**Chapter 15…The Katalmach**

The trip to Old Owl Well was tediously uneventful. Their guide was lean and dour and rather small for a human, little taller than Carona. Her name was Chule. With her worn, weathered face, she could have been any age from a hard-lived forty to a well-preserved seventy. Something about her—the way she never wasted a word or a movement—reminded Carona of Daeghun. Chule had little to say, preferring gestures over words, and she placed the welfare of the donkeys over their riders' comfort or safety. She also seemed to rate the donkeys' intelligence considerably higher than her employers.

Considering that they were deliberately headed into orc-infested lands, Carona conceded the point.

Carona had never actually seen an orc but there were several half-orcs in the guild—big scary bruisers sporting tusks and an abundance of body hair—and she had always been careful not to cross them. Moire had clearly despised them and stuck them with the lowest or most dangerous tasks. They could not safely retaliate against Moire but they could and did take out their resentment on others, particularly on those who showed traces of elven blood. Given how intimidating a half-orc was, she expected a full-blooded orc to be nightmarish.

Khelgar tried to cheer her up with tales of bloody clashes between orcs and his clan until she and Neeshka begged him to stop.

Accustomed to walking wherever she needed to go, Carona had always rather envied those who rode. Now she learned the reality of uncomfortable saddles and the ache of seldom used muscles. Still, they could never have carried their gear as well as the water they needed on their own backs. And she had to admit that these animals were clever, placid and even friendly. She didn't know if the stubborn temperament of donkeys was exaggerated in the common lore or if their gentleness was from the influence of Chule and Elanee. She'd now have to think twice about calling Cormick a stubborn jackass. 'Stubborn Harborman' was much more accurate.

Ever since her talk with Cormick, he and Lorne had been much on her mind. Although all three had grown up in the same village, their early lives had been quite different. How much those differences had shaped and defined them, she couldn't say.

She had been raised by a man so engrossed by his own grief that nothing else was quite real to him, or so it seemed to Carona. She had only uncomfortable guesses about why he had accepted responsibility for her when he took no solace from her presence. His home had been chill and silent. Daeghun had met all her material needs—she had never gone hungry or ragged or slept cold, and he taught her the skills she would need to survive on her own. He had meticulously done his duty by her and if (as she had once told Cormick during one of their arguments) she had had enough of duty to last a lifetime, the flaw was perhaps as much in her own character as in his stoic example.

Like her, Cormick had been orphaned during that long-ago attack on West Harbor. Only Tymora's luck or the hand of some other god had kept the monsters that killed his parents from sniffing him out of his hiding place as well. He was taken in by his three unmarried and childless aunts, who doted on their young nephew. The aunts were rich by West Harbor standards—their land was farmed by tenants and they lived off the tithe and (rumor had it) a stash of gold that had been laid down by an adventurous ancestor. As proof of their wealth, they had an astounding number of books, a whole shelf full, almost as many as the wizard Tarmas. Cormick had been allowed to read them whenever he wished. Carona had envied his good fortune with all the fervor of her youthful heart.

According to Lewy Jons, Carona's source for village gossip both new and old, many heads had been shaken over Cormick's rearing. 'No good will come from spoiling and coddling the boy' seemed the general consensus but the pessimists were proven wrong. Despite being petted and lavished with every luxury the aunts could devise; despite never being whipped and never given chores, Cormick grew up to be as hard-headed and hard-working as any Harborman could wish.

Lorne, in contrast, had been raised in village-approved austerity. After his dad disappeared Lorne had become the head of his family, running the farm and caring for his mama and three young siblings at the tender age of thirteen summers. He'd been a big strapping lad, tall as many a man in the village. His mother, Retta, clung to and depended upon him in a way that Carona found odd and almost uncomfortable to witness. Although she had lived in West Harbor since before Carona was born, Retta had come from Neverwinter and she was still considered a newcomer by the village, soft and incompetent like all city folk. It seemed natural to the villagers that Lorne, young as he had been, should take charge.

Lorne and Cormick had been rivals since their earliest childhood. The stormy relationship that developed between them when they reached their late teens had been regarded in West Harbor as an unexplainable oddity, a little joke of Sharess perhaps. The two youths had much in common—their physical prowess and competitive spirits stood out—but Carona had thought it was their differences that formed the attraction. She had caught glimpses of the zealous passion hidden beneath Cormick's stolid exterior and she had also seen the insecurity behind Lorne's bluster.

In some ways, Lorne had been a very typical Harborman—large, strong, and more than a little obstinate. He was moody, though. When he was happy, one couldn't ask for better company but he had a wild and unpredictable temper and no more control over it than a small child. His anger rarely erupted into words but in actions—a thrown boot or tool, a backhand or a shove, and sometimes worse than that. And afterwards, he might be sweet or caressing but never apologetic. He would rarely mention or even acknowledge anything he had done in a rage. Sometimes Carona had felt there were two men inside him and one was an angry, brutal and silent stranger that even Lorne himself feared.

They had been desperately poor in those days when they had first come to Neverwinter, and that had brought plenty of frustrations. Watchmen perennially groused about their pay but at least they took home honest coin now, not the scrip they'd been issued during the war. Few merchants had accepted scrip and with food in short supply, they could charge as they pleased. The three of them would have starved if Carona, with the skills she'd picked up from Lewy Jons, hadn't spent her days breaking into plague-emptied houses and taking what could be sold or traded. This fact she nominally kept hidden from Cormick, who was unwilling to believe that the pay he worked so hard for was only good for privy paper.

Lorne had never handled idleness or frustration well. After Cormick threw him off the Watch, Carona often saw the wordless brute lurking behind Lorne's eyes. Lorne had quickly given up looking for work, not that there was much to be found. The one time she rather diffidently suggested he return to West Harbor, his reaction had been almost frighteningly intense. That was when she realized that the competitiveness between him and Cormick had not abated, on his side at least.

Cormick was working long shifts and Carona soon found excuses to be out on her own, away from Lorne and his peevish temper. She finally lost what little patience she had left when she returned to find that Lorne, no longer able to cadge drinks by flashing his Watchman's cloak, had gotten drunk on what remained of the household coin. He'd been in a maudlin state but that changed the moment Carona cursed him and asked what they were supposed to eat for the next ten-day.

Nothing had made Lorne angrier than being in the wrong. What happened next was all too predictable but like Lorne, she had been angry and frustrated and unwilling to back down. She had been so tired of being the only practical member of their ménage. Cormick could have used his position as Watch sergeant to help them all. Instead, he put his hand in his pocket for every beggar that crossed his path. And Lorne had been content to let her take full responsibility for all their day-to-day needs. As much as she had later laid Lorne's fate at Cormick's feet, she knew deep down that she shared the blame. They had all made poor choices.

Carona shook off the unpleasant memory, for their destination was finally in sight.

According to Chule, Old Owl Well had once been a sleepy trading post until razed by orcs. Now it was a war camp, swarming with Greycloaks. The place pulsed with activity, most of which seemed to require a lot of shouting and swearing. Some of the soldiers were training with weapons and others were piling stones to make crude walls around the perimeter of the camp. After their days of quiet travel, the racket was astounding. By her side, Elanee winced.

The well itself was an artesian aquifer that had been dug out a bit and lined with cut stone. It was neither as large nor as impressive as Carona had pictured it, but at least the water was pure and clean. The well was assigned a full-time guard, charged with ensuring no one fouled the water, with the additional responsibility (it seemed to Carona) of harassing those travelers he thought had an unsavory look about them.

Chule took charge of the donkeys and Carona sought out their contact, Karina. The four of them attracted a great deal of attention in this mostly human and mostly male setting and Carona cringed at her own lack of foresight. Accustomed to Neverwinter where the races mingled more freely, she had almost forgotten the reaction of Fort Locke's soldiers to the tiefling's exotic appearance. She gave Neeshka an apologetic look. Neeshka raised her brows with airy nonchalance; feigned, judging by the twitch in her tail. The well guard had not allowed her to fill her water skin for fear she might 'taint' the water; Khelgar had had to do it for her and his wisecracks had not eased the situation.

When Carona finally tracked down their contact, she had to endure Karina's snide comments ('I see the circus is in town') as well as her litany of complaints about the camp, the food, the weather, and the incompetence of the Greycloaks. She was already kicking herself for not entering the camp quietly and alone but getting dressed down by a complete stranger did not set too well with her. At last Karina relented and handed over the forged papers claiming she was here at the Council's behest, to escort the Waterdeep emissary back to Neverwinter.

"Be convincing when you show them to Callum," were her parting words. "Unlike just about everyone else here, he's no fool."

Commander Callum was indeed suspicious and worse, he had no news of the emissary. All they could do was to wait for the return of his scouts, he told them. When Carona asked how long that would be, he gave a curt shrug.

"However long it takes," he told them. "Go make yourselves useful."

Khelgar had been pleased that a fellow dwarf had charge of the camp—until he introduced himself to the commander. "_Khelgar_ Ironfist," Callum had said, looking him up and down with a fishy eye. "I've heard of you," he said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. He then took pains to remind them that those who brawled in his camp would lose their water privileges. Khelgar stiffened and was uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the day.

"This is just great," Neeshka grumbled. "I _love_ this place already. We're at a well, and they won't let us have enough water for a bath. And look where they told us to camp. Right smack in the middle of Orc Alley."

Neeshka was right, Carona realized. They'd been told to pitch their tents on the outskirts of the camp where the walls were the weakest.

"Quit your whining," Khelgar said. "Surely you're not afraid of a little orc or two."

"A _little_ orc? No, I'm afraid of a great big orc, the kind that has lots of friends with great big axes. And breath worse than yours, Khelgar. I hear they hit this place just about every night."

So they waited. Orcs attacked that very first night and they were every bit as scary as Carona had imagined. Callum's skepticism abated somewhat when he realized just how handy having a tiefling and a druid on watch in the camp were for his defenses, and he became downright friendly after an evening spent with Khelgar playing some esoteric dwarven game which involved throwing hammers, shouting, and copious amounts of ale. Not friendly enough to offer them any men or material assistance when his scout finally returned with news that the emissary's guard had been slaughtered and Issani taken by orcs. But he did offer them access to his maps and his sincere best wishes for finding and recovering Issani.

"What do we do now?" Carona asked Karina. "Should I take this news back to Neverwinter?" she added hopefully.

"Go find him, of course. There has been no ransom demand and that suggests that the orcs have their own use for Issani, so you must find him and quickly." And that was the extent of her advice.

Chule not only flatly refused to accompany them out of the camp; she also refused to let them take any of 'her' donkeys.

"Few things orcs like better than good donkey flesh," she said. That was a long speech for her. She added, almost under her breath, "Except for killing fool adventurers."

Carona had to share her pessimism. The simplest solution would be to report Issani's death but she had already gently probed Karina and knew she would not back them up. Surely it was a fool's quest for the four of them to comb these orc-infested mountains but she suspected that returning to Neverwinter empty-handed would be suicide of a different flavor. She'd seen enough of Karina to know she'd be quick to paint their failure in the worst possible light.

What she wanted more than anything was to wash her hands of the whole business. What did she have to go back to in Neverwinter? Would anyone care if she never returned? Maybe she should dump Daeghun's cursed shards down the nearest orc-hole, take the donkeys and push on to Yartar. Perhaps she could change her name and sign on with their thieves' guild, the Hand of Yartar. Or maybe she could hire on with a caravan headed south to Waterdeep. Presumably the Night Wings would take her back.

She sighed and pressed her hand against the packet of shards hidden in her tunic. The time might come when she had to give them up but perhaps not just yet.

Callum's scouts had provided them with the location of Yaisog Bonegnasher's clan hold. Although not exactly friendly to non-orcs, he had been known to make deals. Callum suggested they try approaching him and negotiating for Issani's release. How they were to gain an audience with the clan leader without getting killed first was, he said, up to their initiative. He also seemed to assume that the Council had provided them with enough gold to buy the emissary's freedom. (Karina had laughed heartily when Carona suggested she advance them coin for this purpose.)

The various orc tribes were united under an exceptionally powerful and charismatic leader, Logram Eyegouger. This did not bode well for the Greycloaks and perhaps explained some of Callum's irascibility. It was rare for so many clans to work together, an uneasy and unstable state of events, but when it happened, the orcs were a dangerous force indeed. In fact, the Greycloaks might have already been swept away by the orc horde except for the presence of some unknown band of humans who were also attacking the orcs, keeping them disorganized and wary. They were led by a man known to Callum only as the Katalmach, an orcish term for berserker.

"If you can make contact with this Katalmach, perhaps he will have news of Issani," Callum said. "For all I know, Issani may already be under his protection. It is strange that we have received no demand for ransom. Surely the orcs wouldn't have taken him so deliberately without knowing his value, not just to Waterdeep but to Neverwinter as well."

Finding a war camp led by some crazed vigilante who clearly didn't want to be found didn't seem like a great plan to Carona. But it sounded better than dropping in on the orc tribes and trying to strike a deal—particularly since they had nothing of value to trade for Issani. And it sounded a _lot_ better than Khelgar's plan, which could be summed up as 'kill them all'. Carona was beginning to realize that taking a dwarf into the territory of his racial enemies was not the smartest move she could have made.

Callum's scouts had only a vague idea where to find the Katalmach but that was all Elanee needed. With her ability to see through the eyes of hawks and other creatures, locating the camp didn't take long. Getting to it was a more difficult matter. They traveled during the day, when the orcs laired up against the bright mountain sun. At night, when the orcs were active, they slept (or at least rested uneasily) in the most hidden spots they could find.

It was close to dusk when they finally approached the Katalmach's camp, not the ideal time of day for strolling into a group of suspicious berserkers. Not knowing what reception to expect from these strangers and remembering the Greycloaks' distrust of non-humans, Carona decided to enter the camp alone. She was fairly confident that Neeshka could slip into the camp and release her, if it came to that.

When she approached the nervous sentry (who looked no older than fifteen), his reaction was about what she had feared. He drew his scarred club and brandished it in her face.

"Hey now," she said, stepping back and holding out her open hands. "There's no need for that."

"Who are you? How did you find us?" He looked anxiously down the trail behind her as if expecting a horde of orcs at her heels.

"I'm here to talk to your leader."

"What do you want?"

"I just want to talk." She gave him a guileless look that he returned with suspicion. "Look," she said. "I'm not here to cause trouble for you folks. I need some information. Maybe some help."

Strangely, that worked.

"Fine then," he said. He beckoned for her to precede him. "But you'd better be telling the truth. If you aren't, _he_ will know."

The camp itself seemed in a highly defensible location, set in the cleft of a mountain, and backed by a cave. The Katalmach's troops were outfitted worse than even the Greycloak recruits at Old Owl Well, wearing bits of mismatched armor and carrying weapons that ranged from farm tools to clubs to axes that had no doubt been taken from orcish hands. That they had survived so long against so many orcs was impressive, but when Carona was taken before the Katalmach, she began to understand how they might have done so.

From what she had heard at Old Owl Well, she had been expecting someone roughly the size and temperament of Lorne Starling. Although the Katalmach was a tall, broad-shouldered man, he was no giant. He had long, rather shaggy hair and a thick black beard but that was the only touch of the barbaric to his appearance. He was dressed neatly and plainly in a heavy chain shirt with a dark surcoat over it. A well-worn hammer hung at his side. His eyes lifted when Carona approached—cool blue eyes that held a keen assessment. Suddenly Carona had no trouble believing those eyes could see straight to the truth.

"I found this woman skulking around the camp," the sentry said dramatically. His voice cracked a little in his excitement. Carona turned and gave the boy a look of mild outrage. Skulking? If she had been skulking, he would never have seen her. For a moment she could have sworn she saw a twinkle in the leader's eyes.

"Thank you, Anri," the man said quietly. "You may return to your post."

"Are you the Katalmach?" she asked.

"I have been called that," he answered in a low, pleasant voice. "My name is Casavir. Who are you and why have you been…skulking…about my camp?"

Of their own accord, her lips turned up into a smile. Although Casavir didn't smile back, the look he gave her was pleasant and warming. She couldn't figure out how he did it. There was something about him that drew the eye and it was more than simple good looks.

It seemed like frankness would be the key to earning the Katalmach's trust, so after calling in her companions, she told him of the missing emissary they sought. As it happened, his scouts had seen Issani taken, or so they believed. They had witnessed the attack on what must have been Issani's guards by orcs from the Eyegouger clan but by the time Casavir's men arrived in force, Issani had been gone.

"Do you know where these Eyegougers can be found?" Carona asked. His eyes met hers for a long moment and that feeling of cool assessment intensified. Neeshka, who had been hovering by her elbow, suddenly coughed and moved away.

"I do," he said. "We can discuss our next steps in the morning after I have had time to think on it. For now, it sounds like supper is ready."

'_Our_ next steps'? Was he planning to help her then? Carona gave him a puzzled gaze. He gestured towards the trestle table that the cooks had set up so they could pass out the food.

The food was plain and not exactly abundant but it was still a treat to eat a hot meal. Carona was interested to see that the camp did not consist of warriors only—there were families here as well and some of the children were quite young. She was also interested to see that the children were served first and that they ate with something that approached quiet decorum, often eyeing the Katalmach as if seeking his approval.

"This is _not_ what I expected at _all_," Neeshka whispered in her ear and Carona nodded her agreement.

Unlike Commander Callum, Casavir had directed Carona and her friends to set their bedrolls in the most protected part of the camp, near the cavern where the children slept. Perhaps this was simply so he could keep an eye on the newcomers but she doubted that his thoughts were so devious. This was the first night in many in which she had not had to stand a late watch, and she should have slept soundly. Instead, after dozing uneasily, she jerked awake, heart pounding and senses stretched in search of danger. The camp was quiet.

For a moment she just sat there in her bedroll with her head on her knees and her mouth terribly dry. She slipped on her boots and went to the cook fire, where she found a pot of tea sitting in the ashes, ready for the sentries. A girl in her mid teens was idly poking at the fire. She gestured for Carona to help herself to a mug.

"Bad dream?" the girl asked. Carona gave her a sharp look but the girl's face was so open and candid that she nodded instead of denying it.

"Lots of us have them," the girl said. "Even him." Carona followed her gaze to the silent figure kneeling in the darkness near a boulder. It was the Katalmach. His eyes were closed and his face almost inhumanly peaceful. He had been so still that she had not known he was there.

"He prays for us," the girl confided. "Keeps us safe. The gods listen to him." Her expression held trust and something close to awe.


	16. Logram's Lair

_Author's Note: I'd hoped to be done with this chapter sooner but, well, it grew. I know a lot of people hate this part of the campaign. I admit that I'm not at all averse to a nice dungeon crawl but Carona, I think, would rather find another way through…_

**Chapter 16…Logram's Lair**

"There's something strange about that man," Neeshka whispered in Carona's ear as they watched the Katalmach speak with Katriona, his second in command. He looked clear-eyed and well rested despite his late night vigil. It was early in the morning and the camp was already in a bustle, but with a quiet tension that caught Carona's attention. She thought that most of the fighters were avoiding walking near or even looking towards the Katalmach's direction. Carona knew she ought to move away to give the two some privacy but, as usual, curiosity won out over manners.

"Don't do this, Casavir," Katriona said, her voice raised in agitation. She could not hear his low-pitched reply, but if it was meant to be calming, it had the opposite effect.

"We don't have enough able-bodied fighters to take on the Eyegougers and you know it," Katriona continued. Again, Carona could not hear his words. Casavir's deep voice did not carry like his sergeant's did. She edged a little closer.

"You…what? No, don't say that. I've seen that path. You know you'll just get yourself killed. Think of the rest of us, Casavir. Where will we be without you?"

The Katalmach shook his head slightly then noticed that Carona and Neeshka were watching him. He beckoned for them to approach.

"Uh oh, we're in for it now," Neeshka whispered but she followed Carona. Katriona stood with her arms crossed over her chest, looking terribly upset.

"If Logram Eyegouger holds the Waterdeep emissary captive, he must be freed as quickly as possible," Casavir said without preamble. "We have been watching Logram for some time. He and his war leader Yaisog Bonegnasher are busy amassing their forces for a decisive strike against the Greycloaks at Old Owl Well. I believe that he plans to commit all his fighters very soon, in the hopes of retaking the well before Nasher can send reinforcements."

"That would be disastrous," Carona said. If Old Owl Well was lost, how could she possibly complete her mission? How would they even manage to return to the city safely?

Casavir nodded.

"It occurs to me that the emissary was taken to hamper Nasher's communications with the Lords' Alliance and to make it more difficult for him to draw upon their resources. What do you think?"

"Are these orcs really that cunning?" Carona asked.

"It would be a mistake to underestimate Logram Eyegouger. He is formidable. It has taken more than mere strength for him to unite the tribes."

"If that is their plan, then surely they will have killed the emissary already," Katriona said. "So there's no need…"

"I think there is a good chance he still lives," Casavir said. "Issani is worth more to them alive than dead. Logram knows that holding the well will require gold as well as fighters." He paused and looked out across the camp. The morning was bright and cloudless. Elanee had told Carona that this side of the mountain range rarely saw rain. Even without orcs, the farmers here could not have had an easy life.

"If the Greycloaks fall now, I suspect Nasher will abandon Old Owl Well and turn his attention to other, more easily secured trade routes," Casavir said. "Nasher could not have anticipated that the orc tribes would band together as they have. He will cut his losses here, I fear, and the people who live here will be completely undefended. Our work will have been for nothing."

He gave Katriona a significant look. She frowned and looked at her feet.

"Does my assessment agree with your own observations?" he asked Carona. She had seen no point in pretending to be sent from the Council and had told him last night that she had been hired by 'the guild' to look for Issani. She may have implied that it was Neverwinter's trade guild she was working for, but she didn't actually lie about it. For some reason, she did not want to get caught in a lie by the Katalmach. Neeshka was right—there really was something strange about the man. Surely he was gods-touched, as his people seemed to believe. She could almost see fate hanging over him like a fey mantle.

"Lord Nasher committed every Greycloak he had to this venture, without totally stripping the city of defenses," she said slowly, remembering one of her discussions with Moire. "If they are lost—I don't know how he would replace them. If he levies another tax, I think some of the nobles…" She coughed. Without knowing Casavir's political leanings, she hesitated to hint at treason. "Well, I don't think they'd be too supportive. I can't see Lord Nasher being able to raise another army until the city reconstruction is complete unless the circumstances were truly dire."

"Exactly," he said. "I agree." Despite herself, she felt warmed by his approval. How did he do that? If she didn't watch herself, she was afraid she'd end up hanging on his every word like Katriona and the rest of his people. "At any rate, I feel that this is the opportune moment to move against the Eyegougers. Our best chance for freeing the emissary is now, while Logram's eyes are upon Old Owl Well. And if it happens that we can strike a blow against Logram himself then perhaps we can achieve what we have been fighting for these last months."

Katriona made a restless movement. Casavir put a hand on her shoulder.

"You know we have anticipated this day," he told her. "We have fought well against the orc raiding parties but what is coming is more than we can handle on our own." He turned back to Carona. "While it is important to try to free Issani, it is perhaps more important that the Greycloaks be warned of Logram's planned assault. What I propose is this. Katriona and my men will move swiftly to Old Owl Well, to reinforce the Greycloaks against Logram's advance. And if you are willing, Carona, I will lead you to Logram's clan hold. We will attempt to rescue Issani."

"Casavir, I told you…" Katriona protested.

"I believe you understand your orders," the Katalmach said in a tone that rang with finality. His sergeant gave him a look that was both angry and hurt but said no more.

Carona gestured for Khelgar and Elanee to come join the discussion.

"Let's get going," Khelgar said enthusiastically, as soon as he heard the proposal. "I'm more than ready to crack some orc skulls." His thick fingers caressed the shaft of his hammer and he grinned.

"Surely there is some other way," Elanee said, giving Carona a worried look. Neeshka's face was appalled but she said nothing. Carona found her silence worrying. She wondered if the tiefling would slip away and find her own way back to Neverwinter and she could hardly blame her for doing so. This was not Neeshka's fight, nor did tackling a horde of orcs in their lair sound like anything she herself was qualified to do.

And then the Katalmach gave her a reassuring half-smile and she found herself meekly agreeing to give his plan a try.

They didn't do so badly. Logram's stronghold was deep in the mountains. Elanee's tie to the creatures of the land was of immense help in locating orc scouts and hunting parties before they were seen by them. Whenever possible, they attacked in the bright daylight when the orcs were at a disadvantage. Neeshka had brought along a short hunting bow and she was a viciously good shot. And Casavir was a fighter after Khelgar's own heart. Katalmach indeed, he roared into battle with no more regard for his own safety than the dwarf had. Carona stayed in the shadows when she could and used the sword Khelgar had made her to finish off any orcs who made the mistake of trying to flank the two warriors.

They had been on the trail a couple of days before Carona remembered where she had first met Casavir. The memory came one night after they had finished their cold supper. Neeshka and Khelgar had already fallen into an exhausted sleep and Elanee had left to find some quiet spot for her reverie. Carona was on watch. She walked quietly about the camp. The sliver of moon was almost directly overhead and the pale stone of the sheltering cliff almost glowed in its light. When she found Casavir at his prayers, she had no sense of intruding upon his privacy. Rather, it was like coming upon a statue unexpected in a garden, a feast for the eyes. Carona doubted she had ever in her life felt the peace she saw on his rapt face but she felt no envy, only wonder.

When he blinked and suddenly met her gaze, it was if a cold bucket of water had been dashed over her.

"I'm sorry," she stuttered, hoping the night hid her embarrassment. "I did not mean to interrupt."

"Do not be," he said. He gave her one of his rare little smiles. And suddenly she thought she recognized in this shaggy-haired man with the rough growth of beard the neat and painfully shy young man she had seen once or twice in the Moonstone Mask. Had Ophala called him Casavir or did she have the wrong man after all? She wasn't sure.

"Is something amiss?" he asked and she realized she was staring.

"No. I thought you looked familiar, that's all. Have I seen you in Neverwinter? Aren't you the man Judge Oleff sent to protect Ophala Cheldarstorn—the paladin from the Hall of Justice?"

His face went very still.

"I left the order some time ago."

"I didn't mean to pry," she said quickly but of course she had.

Even at the time, she had thought Ophala's story didn't ring quite true. Carona could think of few women less in need of protection than Ophala. She had claimed she was being harassed by some noble and that was why she had begged the loan of a holy warrior, although judging from the stacks of books and the coming and going of messengers from the Archives, there was more to it than that. Carona had guessed she was up to some mischief and asked no more about it. Ophala was not a bad person but she loved her little schemes. She couldn't help but wonder if Casavir had got caught up in one of them, to his detriment.

"Had we met?" he asked. "I'm sorry; I do not recall."

"No," she said. "You were pointed out to me once or twice. We were never introduced."

"I…see." For a moment, she was afraid he was affronted. Paladins were enough of a rarity that they were liable to be pointed out anywhere. To find a paladin in the Moonstone Mask—that was strange. The Mask was little more than an expensive festhall, no matter what Ophala claimed. But she doubted that being pointed out pleased him. He seemed rather self-effacing—at least when he wasn't running into battle with his hammer in hand.

"I performed in the Mask sometimes," she said, as if this little confession would make him feel more comfortable. "I am a member of the Night Wings, an acrobatic troupe. Or I was. I was busy doing…other things and they left me behind."

"You are an acrobat?" he asked, brows lifting in inquiry. If he thought it bizarre that an acrobat would be sent after the missing emissary, he was too polite to say. "Then that explains…"

It was Carona's turn to lift her brows.

"The, er, exercises I've seen you doing every day. They do not seem a part of any training technique I am familiar with."

"I have to work to keep my flexibility. I don't suppose the Dance of Two Blades is taught in the Hall of Justice," she said, smiling.

"No." He gave her a thoughtful look. "To use your skills for entertainment is as good a use as any—and better than some."

"I think so," she said uncomfortably, remembering some of the other uses for her 'skills'.

"I was surprised that the trade guild would hire one of Lower Planes blood," he said, casting his gaze towards Neeshka's sleeping bag. "That is more…broad-minded than I would have expected."

"She is a friend of mine," Carona said. "She travels with me for, well, protection, I suppose. She runs into a lot of prejudice."

"I imagine she does," he said. After a moment, he added, "You might tell her that she would meet with less prejudice if she would make a greater effort to respect the property of others."

Carona flushed.

"Oh, dear. Are you missing something?"

"Nothing of importance," he assured her.

Later when she taxed Neeshka, the tiefling laughed.

"Hey, it's not like he has anything to worry about. All he has are some religious medals and a worn-out little prayer book which I didn't touch, I swear. The only reason I took that coin of his was because it was rolling around in his purse all lonely and pathetic. I felt sorry for it."

"You took his last coin? Really, Neeshka, that's low. I'm surprised he was so nice about it then." Neeshka grinned and twirled her tail. "Well, you've got a lot of nerve, stealing from someone who's gods-touched, I'll say that. I wouldn't dare."

"Oh, pooh, who cares? A mark's a mark, I always say. I stole from the poor box in Helm's temple all the time—well, until they threw me out of the orphanage. Nothing ever happened. Tymora's looking out for me."

"Good for you but I'd say it's pretty obvious that the gods are looking out for Casavir. I'd be more careful if I was you."

"I'm always careful." Carona gave her a frown that was only half pretense. "Oh, all right, all right. Here." She dug a gold coin out of her purse and pressed it into Carona's hand. "Give it back to him then if you're going to be that way about it." Then she muttered, "Spoilsport."

"Thanks."

Neeshka rolled her eyes.

"Wait." She opened her purse again and took out a copper. "Give him that as well so his poor little coin won't be so lonesome."

* * *

"You are not seriously proposing a frontal assault of the Eyegougers' stronghold?" Carona asked. Well, it wasn't really a question because that was clearly what the Katalmach had in mind.

"We can take them, lass," Khelgar said. "Aren't you itching for a fight?" Carona raised her eyebrows at Casavir. Her expression asked, Are you truly as mad as him? Beside her, Elanee's eyes were wide. The druid was unexpectedly handy in a fight but Carona knew that she loathed the constant bloodshed. And Carona suspected Elanee was unconvinced that the human farmers here had any more right to the area than the orc invaders.

"The entrance to the lair is narrow, for defense," Casavir said. "But that works in our favor, for they can only come at us two or three at a time. Our small numbers are more of an advantage than a disadvantage."

Carona didn't find this argument terribly persuasive and apparently neither did the tiefling.

"Yeah, that's fine," Neeshka said. "That's great. It's a wonderful plan. Until someone runs out the back way, calls for help from those hundreds of orcs we've been avoiding the last ten-day, and they all come pounding up that narrow trail behind us. Getting trapped on some skimpy ledge of rock might sound fun to you but it doesn't to me. Count me out."

It didn't sound much fun to Carona either.

"The back way?" she asked.

"Sure, they probably have two or three hidden exits. Don't orcs always do that? I thought this Logram fellow was supposed to be pretty bright for an orc. I mean, not even a rabbit would live in a hole with only one way in or out."

There followed a rather frustrating time of searching for tracks or signs of a second entrance. But Tymora smiled on them. The Eyegouger caverns were inhabited by bats that swooped out in a dark cloud every evening at dusk. Elanee was able to call one to her and use its senses to map her way through the complexity of the caves.

The back entrance was well hidden but Elanee's bat found it easily enough. To reach it, one had to clamber a short ways up a steep cliff and then wiggle through a cleft in its face. It was no doubt meant to be used as an emergency exit only because the entry was so awkward.

"It seems strange that this place is unguarded," Elanee said, passing on the report of her bat spy.

"Careless," Carona agreed, as she checked over her gear. Neeshka had already climbed to the opening and was busy dismantling the trap she'd found there. "From what you know of Logram, does that seem typical?" she asked Casavir.

"He can be arrogant and he considers the Greycloaks little threat," he said thoughtfully. "Still, I would have expected him to be wary of treachery from his own kind. We must assume there are hidden defenses deeper within. I do not think it wise for you two to go in alone." Carona felt a surge of irritation at the repetition of this protest.

"This is what I'm here for. Elanee's bat will keep an eye on things," she said. "If we get in trouble, feel free to storm your way through to rescue us. But I really hope Neeshka and I can slip in, find the emissary, and slip right out again." She held up her hand as Khelgar opened his mouth. "There'll be plenty of time for heroic skull-bashing later back at Old Owl Well if that's what you want to do," she told him. "Let's get Issani safe first, shall we? If we openly attack now, they might kill him before we can get to him."

Neeshka leaned out overhead and motioned to Carona that it was safe to come up. She scrambled up the rock wall and eased her way through the opening. Short as she was, Carona had to bend almost double in the dark tunnel ahead. She fumbled for the amulet around her neck, a gift from Moire. It consisted of a medallion in the shape of a cat's eye, suspended on a short chain. When activated, it let her see in complete darkness, much like the tiefling or the orcs. She spoke the word and then waited for her eyes to adjust to the shocking change. Suddenly the tunnel was almost as bright as day, but all the color had leached out of the rock, her clothes, even her hands. Neeshka looked more like a ghost than a living person.

Neeshka watched her impatiently but her tail was very still and had wrapped itself around her own knee. Carona had never seen her so nervous.

"I hope we're getting paid really, really well for this," the tiefling whispered. "I'm not sure there's enough gold in Neverwinter to make me happy right now. This place gives me the creeps."

"I know what you mean." But Carona admitted to herself that her heart was thumping more with anticipation than with fear. She hadn't wanted to come to Old Owl Well. She hadn't wanted to fight orcs. But now that she was here and committed in every sense of the word, the thought of stealing the emissary out from under Logram's very nose was exciting. She knew this attitude was foolhardy but she figured she wouldn't have become a thief in the first place if at some level she didn't enjoy being somewhere she wasn't supposed to be.

Unfortunately Elanee's bat had no way to communicate with them and so could not help with the scouting. Carona hunched her way through the tunnel with Neeshka behind her, and it gradually opened up so they could stand. The only noise she heard was the soft padding of their feet and her own breathing. When they stopped, the deep silence pressed down like a suffocating blanket but when they moved the sound of a displaced pebble or the scrape of a foot was even more nerve-wracking.

The tunnel widened into a cavern. There was sand and loose rock underfoot, in some places very deep. Debris from digging or widening the escape tunnel, Carona suspected. Neeshka checked diligently for traps.

Soon they saw traces of light from the cavern ahead and they redoubled their caution. They came upon a smaller cave that had been set up as a workroom of some sort. There was a tiny mage-light lamp on a makeshift desk in one corner and a large, heavy workbench was on the opposite wall. There was an open crate on the floor and a couple of locked boxes under the bench. While Carona kept watch, Neeshka carefully went through everything.

"It's strange," Neeshka breathed in Carona's ear. "There are three or four books written in Common and one written in some language I've never even seen before. Looks real old, too. Do you think it could be Orcish?"

"I'm not so sure orcs even have a written language," Carona said.

"Yeah? Well, whatever."

"What were the books about?" Neeshka shrugged, uninterested. Typical Neverwinter dock rat, Carona thought tolerantly—so accustomed to books being cheap and plentiful that they raised no sense of curiosity within her.

"I found some gold in the desk," Neeshka said and patted her pocket. "One of those chests was half full of new vellum. I've never seen so much unused parchment in one place in my life. Worth a lot of coin back in Neverwinter if we could haul it out of here," she added with a teasing smile.

Had they come across a secret enclave of orc scribes? Carona just shook her head and started to lead the way further down the dark corridor. Then she shook her head again and motioned for Neeshka to wait while she went back and took a look at the books herself. One was a history of some sort. One book was about the size of her hand, a personal journal written in a tiny scrawl that she could barely make out. Two were magical tomes that made her head swim when she tried to read them. And the last, so old that the cover was crumbling, was written in what appeared to be an elven script, but one different from anything Daeghun had ever shown her. After a moment's hesitation and wondering if her own prejudices were making her mistake trash for treasure, she slipped the book inside her tunic. It made an uncomfortable lump.

She followed Neeshka's lead. A movement overhead caught her eye and her heart leapt in her chest until she realized it was just a bat. Elanee's bat, she hoped. They continued to explore until at last they reached a place where the tunnel branched and one side formed a little room. Heavy iron bars had been set into the cavern walls to make a cage. There was a man lying on his stomach on top of a filthy blanket, but whether he was asleep, unconscious, or dead, Carona couldn't tell.

A massive lock secured the crude gate into the cage, but it didn't take long for Neeshka to pick it open. The gate was heavy. It took them both to move it and the creaking sound of the hinges and the scraping of the gate against the rough floor was loud enough to make them both cringe. It was also loud enough to wake the prisoner.

"Who is there?" he cried. He looked around wildly. Carona realized that he was human and couldn't see them in the darkness of the cave.

"Hush!" she said urgently. "Who are you?"

"Are you the guy from Wat…hey!" Carona elbowed Neeshka hard to shut her up. It occurred to her that any prisoner here would say anything, even claim to be the emissary if that would mean his escape. Rescuing the wrong man would be a disaster. Why no one had bothered to give her a physical description of Issani, she didn't know.

The prisoner was richly dressed. His hair was long and pulled away from his face. It was light in color, but under the effect of the amulet, she couldn't tell if his hair was blond or white. She couldn't guess his age from his face, but his features were patrician. Under better circumstances, he was no doubt a handsome man.

Clearly he had suffered torture. His hands were bloody and several fingers looked like they had been broken or dislocated. As he sat up to stare in the direction of their voices, Carona could see that he moved like a man in pain. Broken ribs, perhaps, but from the way he had been resting, she thought he had been whipped. She felt a pang of sympathy.

"Who are you?" he asked cautiously.

"We come from Neverwinter," she said. He relaxed.

"If that means you have been sent to release me, then I thank the gods. I am Issani." Carona sighed, reassured by his Waterdhavian accent. This was easier than she had thought it would be.

"Uh oh," Neeshka said. She had turned to look over her shoulder. Her tail jerked uneasily. "What's that smell?"


	17. Saving the Emissary

**Chapter 17…Saving the Emissary**

The smell of a zombie is not something you're likely to ever forget, Carona thought with a sinking feeling. The frightened look she saw on Neeshka's face no doubt mirrored her own.

"Can you walk?" she asked Issani but he was already scrambling to his feet. He, too, knew what was coming, it seemed. Why were there zombies in an orc stronghold? Why? Carona wondered if Tymora hated her or if she had offended some other god. Maybe she had offended several.

"Hells, hells, hells," Neeshka muttered urgently. "Let's go, let's go, let's get on out of here." Carona had to guide Issani to the gate since in the pitch darkness he could see nothing at all. She had no lamp or torch and no way to cast a mage light. She cursed herself for not thinking of this earlier.

She heard a shuffling and scraping from the unexplored corridor ahead of them. She and Neeshka got on either side of Issani and started hustling him out the way they came. Zombies were slow; they could outpace them if they could keep Issani moving. Surely they could outpace them.

She didn't need to ask Neeshka to hurry. The tiefling's tail twitched in agitation and she yanked at his arm until Carona feared she'd pull the unsteady emissary off his feet. He, too, moved with urgent anxiety but it soon became clear that he was struggling to keep up.

Neeshka's head jerked up and she looked over her shoulder.

"Do you hear that?" she whispered, fear in her voice. The tiefling's senses were keen but after a few breaths, Carona also heard something coming and it didn't sound like humanoid feet. Perhaps it was an animal—a very large animal, with claws that scraped against the rocky floor. It sounded larger than a dog or a wolf. Perhaps it was a bear.

Neeshka met her eyes and jerked her head towards the way out. Carona knew what she was thinking—they could make it out if they left Issani behind.

Issani was a prisoner, and no doubt the orcs wished to keep him alive. Until they finished torturing him, that is. When they got what they wanted, they would kill him. _You don't torture people you're planning to ransom later._ If she left Issani now, they'd never get another chance to save him. _Gods, I hate my life_. Wishing she had either more scruples or fewer, Carona shook her head at Neeshka, let go of Issani's arm, and drew her sword.

The exit was a straight shot out. She hadn't come this far to abandon him now. Maybe she could drive off the bear. They could still outrun the zombies. She unsheathed the dagger at her belt.

"Here," she said, and she pressed it into Issani's hand. "It's a punching dagger. Curl your hand around the bar and mind you don't cut yourself. The blade is sharp." It was one of her favorite off-hand weapons although she had doubts how effective it would prove against zombies. And attacking a cave bear with a dagger seemed a rather quick form of suicide. Still, any weapon was better than no weapon.

He fumbled a little with the unfamiliar grip, but with his injured hands, she thought it would be easier for him to hold than one of her other knives. His face was grim. As she had hoped, having a weapon put a little heart into him. She just hoped in his blindness he wouldn't stab her or Neeshka by mistake.

They moved as quickly as they could, Issani stumbling and breathing heavily. Whether this was from fear, pain or exertion, Carona could not say. Every few breaths, Carona looked over her shoulder until at last she saw the creature pursuing them. For a moment, all thoughts stopped—her mind went blank with fear.

"Go," she said to Neeshka, who had stopped when she did. "Get him out of here." She hoped she didn't sound as hopeless as she felt.

The creature loped forward, running on four legs like the cave bear she had expected but it, too, stopped when it caught sight of her and it slowly raised itself to stand on two legs. Like her, he could see in the dark. He was no mindless zombie; he was a ghast. He had been an orc in life and a particularly large one at that. He towered over her. One tusk was broken and most of the dark hair had fallen away from his scalp, giving his head a diseased appearance. He wore a ragged leather tunic and breeches but no boots. Unlike the zombies she had seen in Highcliff, his eyes shone with malevolent intelligence. He carried no weapon but the nails of his hands and feet, which had elongated into fearsome claws.

"I prayed to Gruumsh One-Eye for an end to my ravening hunger," he told her in Common. "And look what my god has sent me—elf blood to slake my thirst. I shall give him a long drink of it in thanks."

She didn't understand his Orcish shout but she assumed it was a call for reinforcements. She slowly backed away as one of the zombies caught up with him. Some of these zombies had been orcs; some had been humans. At this point, the tunnel was wide enough to give them both fighting room and wide enough to allow the zombies to flank her. Not good, not good at all. But behind her the tunnel narrowed and there was no room to maneuver. That would be worse, for the ghast had the reach of her.

The ghast's stench was far stronger than the zombies she had encountered. She hadn't known that was possible. Breathing shallowly through her mouth didn't seem to help and she had the sickening feeling that if she took a deep breath, she would choke on it.

Carona had not brought her throwing knives but she wasn't sure how much good they would do against the walking dead anyway. Before she could lose her nerve, she lunged forward, took a deep slash at the ghast's unprotected thigh then jumped away before he could retaliate. Her blade parted skin and muscle but he showed no pain and there was no blood.

The fight that followed was like something out of a bad dream. She slashed and she hacked but to little effect. The ghast limped from his wounds but they didn't stop him. The undead didn't bleed and they didn't tire—but she did. As her fatigue grew, she began to lose the speed that was her main defense. The ghast and the zombies slowly drove her back through the cavern.

Her right arm was numb from blocking a zombie's club. Her calf was bleeding from bite wounds—one of the zombies she'd downed had tried to chew through her boot. And as she leapt backward to avoid the ghast's claws, she slammed into Issani and they both went down. He gasped in pain. A frantic look told her Neeshka was gone and then the ghast hooked his claws into her tunic and dragged her to her feet. He nuzzled his face along her neck. She thought she would faint from the stench and the sheer horror of the touch of his cold rotting flesh. His mouth opened wide as if to tear at her throat but he merely rubbed his tusks against her skin. He was toying with her.

"How much of your blood would satisfy my god?" he asked. "Perhaps what you have already spilled would be enough. For I find I do not wish to share what remains in your veins, even with Gruumsh." All Carona could do was gag. The broken tusk scratched under her chin hard enough to draw blood. His dry tongue rasped against the cut and he gave a little grunt of satisfaction. His claws dug through her leather tunic and into her skin as he forced her head back further. She knew she should fight but she was absolutely limp with terror.

"Stop!"

The ghast pulled his face away and growled at the interruption.

"Drop her," the deep voice said, as if commanding a dog. A man stood behind them, wearing robes. His face was covered by a metallic mask that looked identical to the one worn by the Shadow Priest in Highcliff Castle. He carried a lighted staff and the zombies cringed away from him as he approached, but whether they feared his light or his person or were simply obeying his command, Carona did not know.

"I spared your prisoner," the ghast said. His eyes were half shut against the light. "This one is mine."

"No. You may not have her until I have questioned her."

"Question her shade, necromancer," the ghast said. "I hunger."

He pulled Carona off her feet to draw her neck to his mouth, pressing her body possessively to his chest. The priest said something in a language Carona didn't recognize. His words slammed against her ears. She could almost _see_ the power of his words written in flashes on the back of her eyeballs; she could _feel_ them like a hand clutching and squeezing her heart. She gasped as she felt a jolt run through her, starting from her chest, from the two shards she kept hidden in her breast pocket. The ghast ripped his claws out of her tunic as he reeled back. He dropped her like a rag doll. The ghast rocked back on his heels and then recovered his balance. He snarled at the priest.

"Go fetch Logram," the priest said.

"Fetch him yourself, human," the ghast said defiantly. "My sire is no slave of yours, to come when you call. Neither am I."

"Do what I say!" The priest raised his staff and Carona braced herself. The ghast growled again then, with an angry shake of his head, dropped to all fours and loped off.

"So, Issani, you have been missed after all," the priest said. Issani, blinking in the light, came to stand by Carona's side. He held her dagger by his thigh, out of sight from the priest. Carona thought that rather clever. She feared she was too tired to stand but when he reached down his hand—his poor broken hand—to help her up, she shook her head and then pushed herself to her feet. It hurt.

"Does that surprise you?" Issani asked. "I thought this Luskan master of yours was counting upon that. What worth would I be to him if I was of no value to my own people?"

"Garius is not my master," the priest said angrily and then he turned his masked face to Carona.

"Who are you and how did you enter this place?" he asked. "Logram has quite a bit of explaining to do, I think. He promised me we would be undisturbed yet there has been problem after problem."

"And you trusted an orc to keep his word?" she asked, stalling, trying to make some sense of this situation. Luskans and orcs, necromancers and trade emissaries—what did it all mean?

"Say what he will, Logram dares not defy _my_ master," the priest said confidently. "He does not care to share his son's fate, I think. But you—what is this power I feel?" He strode towards her, bringing his staff closer to study her face. "Hold her," he said. "Do not harm her."

A couple of zombies came forward, shoving Issani out of the way, and grasped her by the arms. The necromancer leaned his staff against the cavern wall. He put his hands on her shoulders and leaned into her in a move uncomfortably reminiscent of the ghast. Had the ghast actually been Logram's son in life? _How bizarre and horrible_.

She could feel an icy wave emanating from his face—from his mask. She arched backward, afraid of what would happen if the frigid metal actually touched her.

"What is it?" the priest said, speaking to himself, and his right hand slipped down from Carona's shoulder to her breast. Gods, she thought in a panic, he can feel the shards, just like the bladelings did. His hands moved to the laces of her tunic. His fingers were unnaturally cold. Carona shuddered when they brushed her bare skin.

Then he stopped and his head lifted, looking over her shoulder.

"Ah," he breathed. "I thought I felt the light of 'justice' enter my domain." Carona twisted as much as she could in the iron hold of the zombies. There was indeed a light, a very bright light, casting harsh dancing shadows on the walls, coming from the corridor behind them. And with that light came the sound of running feet. And then there was a shout.

"Hang on, lass!" Khelgar yelled but the Katalmach, with his long-legged stride, was the first to reach them.

"Let her go," Casavir said. The priest had taken up his staff and he used it to gesture at the zombies now crowding into the cavern. They moved forward all at once, with so little coordination that some of them bumped into each other or got shoved against the walls. One zombie fell and was stomped on by his fellows. Carona felt a tiny mad bubble of laughter try to rise from her belly.

"Ah, paladin," the priest said in a mocking, gloating voice. "I was wondering when you would finally come to join your comrades. Do you not recognize the faces here? Do you not know these men and women who followed you into one glorious charge after another and whose blood seeps deep into the very rock about us?"

As Casavir slowly looked around and Carona saw the sickened recognition settle on his face, her touch of hysteria dissipated.

"Tyr, help me," he said. His horror and outrage were plain to hear. "What have you done? You have defiled the bodies of these people? You have stripped from them the peace of the grave? Even these orcs deserve better than this."

"What have _I_ done?" the priest asked. "Why paladin, that is a question you should ask yourself. _I_ did not lead these people to their deaths. All I did was tend to their broken bodies. What peace can they find, knowing their lives were tossed away in your pitiful attempt to appease your own conscience? What peace can they find, knowing they died so a holy warrior can try to banish the shadow that lies so deep in his own soul? Come now, paladin. My children don't need peace. All they wish for now is revenge, I think. That is the only justice they will know."

Casavir had stood frozen in shocked dismay but with those final words, his face hardened. With a roar, he leapt forward, hammer and shield ready, and the light flared about him as if it was fueled by his fury. The priest slipped back behind the line of his zombies and the Katalmach drove his way through them. The undead cowered away from him. Some dropped to the ground and moved no more when his light struck them.

Khelgar attacked the zombies holding her, who made no move to defend themselves from his blows. They had been ordered to hold her and so they just stood there, holding her, while Khelgar pounded them into jam.

"Watch out," she told him as soon as she was free. "That priest has already sent for the orcs. They know we're here."

"Good!" the dwarf shouted happily. "These zombies won't last long. Doesn't look like yon fierce lad is going to save me any, does it?" He waded into the fight as Elanee and Neeshka reached her. She cast a quick look at Issani. He was still on his feet but looked both weary and confused.

"Are you injured?" Elanee asked. She shook her head quickly.

"The orcs must know how we got in here by now," she said urgently. "We need to get out before we're trapped."

"Naloch remains outside as my eyes," Elanee said. "We are on the far side of the mountain from the main entrance. It will take them awhile to make their way here." She frowned at the way Carona was holding her right arm. "You have been hurt."

"Help Issani first," she said. "We're going to have to move quickly and he's had a hard time of it." She looked over at Neeshka, who was eyeing her anxiously. "Thanks for getting help," she said. "Good thinking. Keep an eye on the emissary, okay?"

"Sure," the tiefling said with a hint of relief, as if she'd expected Carona to be angry. _But that would make no sense_, Carona thought.

Khelgar was right; the zombies didn't last long against two determined fighters, one of them a holy warrior burning with outrage. Unfortunately, there were more zombies. And behind them, there were ghouls and ghasts although the big one that had gone to bring Logram was still missing. Casavir, his face now calm and almost expressionless, struck again and again with an economy of motion that Carona noted and envied. At last the priest stood alone. Casavir called for him to surrender.

Instead, the priest shouted out the words of a spell. Carona again felt the warning tingle of magic from the shards she carried. She didn't know what he was going to do but she knew it was going to be bad. Maybe he could raise all the fallen dead again. Maybe he could do something even worse.

"Stop him!" she cried. Before he could finish his spell, Khelgar threw his hammer. It struck the priest square in the mask and split it in two. Without a sound, the priest fell down dead. Whether it was from the blow itself or the destruction of the mask, Carona had no idea.

"Ha!" Khelgar said and he ran forward to retrieve his weapon. "That was a lucky stroke. Look at that. There's ice on my hammer."

From deeper in the tunnel, there came a deep laugh. The big ghast came forward and he was not alone. A huge orc strode past him, flanked by at least ten warriors and several archers with crossbows.

"I suppose I should thank you, assassins, for ridding me of that robed nuisance," the huge orc said. _That's why the orcs held back so long_, Carona thought, but it raised more questions. If the necromancer was an unwanted guest, why was he here at all?

"We are not assassins, Logram," Casavir replied.

"So," Logram said with a humorless grin. "The Katalmach comes before me at last. Why my men fear to face you in battle I do not know."

"You have attacked the people who live here without provocation," Casavir said. "You will not be permitted to continue these attacks."

"And who is going to stop me? You? With your pitiful band of farmers?" He waved his hand towards the broken bodies that littered the cave floor. "You see what has become of those who stand in my way."

"We will continue to stand against you and we will stop you, if it is Tyr's will," Casavir said. Beside Logram, the ghast laughed again. Logram hesitated and for a moment, Carona thought he flinched at the sound. His head jerked and he glared at Casavir.

"All I can take is mine," Logram said. "That is the way things have always been. Your gods have nothing to do with it." He gave a contemptuous snort. "Gruumsh One-Eye is satisfied with the blood I offer him and that is all that matters. Many prayers have I heard on the lips of those I've slain yet their gods did not step in to save them." He smiled and shifted his grip on the war axe he carried. "The humans here are weak and worthless. As are you, Katalmach. You will die now. Nasher's Greycloak forces will soon join you."

"Enough with the talk," Khelgar said impatiently. "Let's get on with the killing."


	18. The Paladin Strikes a Blow

_Author's Note: It may seem like I've forgotten this poor tale. I haven't! OK, it's been almost a year without an update but I did recently rewrite the first chapter. Unfortunately, I introduced a number of continuity problems that I'll have to weed out, but bear with me. As usual, I'm taking liberties aplenty with the game events._

**Chapter 18…The Paladin Strikes a Blow**

"Let us settle this between us," Casavir said. In the stark mage light, his pale eyes shone, intense and vivid.

"Do you mean to challenge me?" Logram Eyegouger took a step forward and looked down at the human. One of his ears flicked forward like an irritated dog. Casavir was tall and broad shouldered—Logram was taller and broader still.

"I do. Let us spare your followers, and mine."

Logram grunted. "You insult me, Katalmach. I do not—"

"Let me kill him," the ghast said. "Let me kill him for you, father."

"No." The ghast ignored this refusal and grasped his father's arm. The chieftain moved as if to shake his son's hand loose, but stopped. His lips pulled away from his tusks. The two began to argue, and as their voices rose, the other orcs began to look at each other uneasily and mutter in their guttural tongue.

"What are they saying?" Carona whispered to Khelgar.

"Yon ghast wishes to stand as his father's champion."

"Why?"

Khelgar shook his head a little. "I'm thinking he's trying to prove himself to his father and his clan."

As the father and son continued to growl at each other, Carona caught the word _Katalmach_ several times. She glanced at Casavir who, patient and motionless, watched the orcs wrangle. She would not enjoy having that calm, stern gaze measure her, she thought.

"Sounds like our friend here has killed Logram's other sons," Khelgar said. "This stinky beastie is the last of them. That's why he wants to fight so bad. Wants to show he's stronger than the rest."

"What does that mean for us?" she asked.

"Hard to say," Khelgar said. "They'd have to treat with Casavir as an equal, should he win. Won't happen anyway. No orc will accept a challenge from any other race."

Logram exchanged a long look with a gray haired orc who had a red eye painted on his robe. Painted in blood, Carona thought. That would be his shaman. Logram gave him an order he clearly didn't like. The shaman then jumped into the argument while the ghast rocked back on his heels and gave Casavir a wolfish stare. Logram roared. The shaman growled and walked away.

"What is it?" Carona whispered.

"Watch and see," Khelgar said.

The ghast took a step toward Casavir. "I will open your belly and throttle you with your own guts." He flexed his claws and grinned. Casavir turned to Logram.

"Does this—does your son fight in your place?" he asked.

"He fights," Logram said.

"If that is your wish, so be it," Casavir said. "I warn you, though—he will be destroyed."

Logram bared his teeth but said nothing. The ghast laughed and bounded toward the shaman, who returned with a weapon. The heavy mace he carried had an almost greasy sheen in the shifting light. Enchanted, Carona thought. The ghast snatched it from the shaman's grasp.

"After I have killed the Katalmach, you will give me the elven to feast upon." The ghast leered at Carona and Elanee.

"After," his father said. Something in his voice—an unexpected bleakness—pulled Carona's attention.

_He knows Casavir will kill his son. He knows it can't win. Perhaps it's an abomination to him as well as to us. _Her mind sped through the possibilities. Once the ghast was dead, what would the orcs do? _Kill us, of course._ She gave Casavir an urgent look but his eyes were half closed and his lips moved silently. She wanted to shake him. _This is not a good time for prayer!_ The gods had never answered any prayer of hers but maybe his experiences were different.

His eyes opened and he beckoned her forward. Casavir leaned down so his mouth was close to her ear.

"I will draw this fight out as long as possible." His voice was a low rumble. His warm breath stirred her hair. "Get Issani to safety." He clapped her shoulder and turned to face the ghast. In something close to exasperation, she moved to Neeshka's side.

The orcs formed a half circle. They shouted and stomped their booted feet as the man and the ghast squared off. Carona tapped Issani to get his attention.

"Neeshka's going to get you out of here," she said.

"What?!"

Carona gave the squealing tiefling a hard pinch. Issani opened his mouth but Carona shook her head at him. The orcs paid them no attention.

"I don't want to leave you again," Neeshka said. "Besides, I don't know the way back to Old Owl Well."

"Can you guide her?" she asked Issani.

"I don't want to leave either." he said.

"But—"

"If I die here, so be it. I do not fancy being hunted across these mountains." The ringing clash of the ghast's mace on Casavir's shield made him jump. "Nor do I wish to be a prisoner again." He gave her a faint smile. "The hospitality I have received so far leaves much to be desired."

"Casavir is fighting that monster to buy you time to escape," she hissed.

"That is brave of him. But it makes no difference." Issani frowned. "You two and the druidess should sneak out, if you think you can. This is no place for a woman."

Carona shook her head. "This is no place for any of us. Besides," she said, "My life isn't worth much if I return to Neverwinter without you."

Issani gave her a questioning look but they all jerked around at the loud chorus of hoots. Casavir had fallen. Carona didn't know if the ghast knocked him down or if he'd tripped on the uneven surface.

"Get up, lad," Khelgar shouted but Casavir bounded to his feet as if he hadn't hiked half a day and fought his way through a wave of undead. Carona stared. _Where does he get all that energy?_ "Stop playing around! Take him down."

"Take him down, Casavir." Carona added her shout to his. Perhaps he heard her. At any rate, he attacked the ghast with a sudden fury that drove him backwards. Orcs parted to let the combatants through. Casavir's chant rang out clear over the clamor of the orcs. A pure white light streamed from his hammer. The ghast recoiled from the sudden glare. The orcs squinted and some shaded their eyes with their hands. All the yelling and stomping stopped.

Casavir's hammer rose. He struck the ghast in the shoulder with such force that the head punched through his leather and half buried itself in the creature's rotten flesh. The nearest orcs jumped back from the splatter of thick foul liquid. Casavir jerked his hammer loose with a quick twist. The ghast hit the floor. His mace dropped beside him with a loud clatter.

Casavir hesitated.

"Kill him," Khelgar shouted.

The ghast bared its tusks and rose to his hands and knees. He sprang towards Casavir, who pivoted and smashed his shield into the ghast's chest. The ghast staggered back. With practiced timing, Casavir stepped in, swung his hammer and split his skull.

Ignoring the angry mutters, Casavir turned to face the warlord.

"Logram Eyegouger," he said. "I have defeated your champion."

"You killed my son."

"No. I released his spirit from its unnatural bondage."

The shaman pushed his way through angry orcs to stand beside Logram.

"Do you expect my gratitude?" Logram asked.

Casavir met his eyes. "No."

The shaman made a gesture Carona didn't recognize.

"Kill them all and offer their blood to Gruumsh," the shaman said.

"And will that win us the favor of One-Eye?" Logram asked. "You gave me better advice a season ago. The dark priests bring a curse, you told me. You told me to leave this place. If I'd listened then, at least one son would be left to me."

"We have lost too much to leave now," the shaman said. "You can sire other sons."

"In this cursed place? No. We go. Now, before we lose more. Now, before more of the dark priests come. Let the humans reap the darkness that grows here."

"Yaisog Bonegnasher will not go along with this."

"Then he and his clan can die here. The Eyegougers go."

Logram pushed through orcs to a lurid banner that hung from spikes driven into the cavern wall. He pulled it down. His claws had been trimmed short, Carona noticed, but they shredded the heavy cloth like knives. All the orcs stood silent and tense. Logram let the pieces flutter to the ground. He turned to Casavir.

"Take this place, Katalmach. You cannot hold it. When darkness devours you, we will return to spit on your corpses."

* * *

"What will Logram's departure mean for the Greycloaks?" Issani asked.

They'd holed up for the night, while the orcs were active, in a shallow cave Elanee had found. Carona's eyes drooped. Elanee had healed the worst of her wounds but she'd been too tired to eat more than a few mouthfuls of dinner. Issani was likely more tired than any of them but he sat beside Casavir and spoke as if he hungered for conversation more than food. Since all they had was travel bread and jerky and scarcely enough water to wash it down, Carona found that quite understandable.

Elanee leaned against the rock wall, so quiet that she may have been in reverie. Neeshka and Khelgar, who had the late watch, lay in their blankets. Khelgar snored.

"Yaisog Bonegnasher has many enemies amongst the tribes," Casavir said. "His clan may be the strongest now but he will not be able to hold the others together. I would expect the infighting to be fierce."

"So this is good news for the proposed trade route to Yartar," Issani said with satisfaction.

"This is good news for the people who live in this area," Casavir said. Issani's brows rose at the hint of rebuke.

"Why did the orcs capture you?" Carona asked when the silence dragged on.

"I wasn't taken for ransom; that much is certain. There is a plot afoot and not of Logram Eyegouger's making."

"Are you saying someone hired the orcs to capture you?" Casavir asked.

"The orcs were instructed to take me and to hold me, yes. I believe it was originally planned that I be replaced with a man called Olov. He arrived with the priest that Khelgar Ironfist killed."

"Did you know this man, Olov?" Casavir asked.

"I came to know him." Issani rubbed his swollen knuckles and grimaced. "Olov took my credentials and used them to forge a new set. His knowledge of the current state of Waterdeep trade policies was disconcertingly accurate. But there were details he wanted from me, details that he had the priest and his apprentices attempt to take from me by torture." He glanced at Carona and his lips turned down. "I am greatly in your debt, you know. I do not know how much longer I could have held out. Once they got what they wanted, the necromancer had further plans for me." He gave an exaggerated shudder but the fear in his eyes looked real enough.

"The necromancer had apprentices?" Carona said. "Did they flee? Will they continue his work?"

"They are dead. Shall I tell you how Logram's son came to become a ghast?" Issani had a rich voice, a storyteller's voice.

"Please do," Carona said.

"This Olov was a very arrogant man. He despised the orcs, considering them filthy barbarians, barely more than animals. You met Logram. You can imagine how well that attitude pleased him."

"Logram was the first true king these tribes have had in a generation, at least," Casavir said.

"Exactly. To put it in a nutshell, Olov offended Logram's son not once, but many times. I do not even believe it was deliberately done. Foolish, eh? Finally, in a fit of rage, the boy slew him. When the priest's apprentices intervened, he killed them also. The priest was furious. This was a tremendous setback to his carefully made plans. He forced Logram to sacrifice his own son in retribution. And the priest was not satisfied with the boy's death. He brought him back as the creature that you saw and he used every opportunity to flout the ghast in Logram's face. He drove Logram half-mad, I tell you."

"Had he no fear he would suffer the same fate as Olov? What hold did he have over Logram to exact so horrendous a price?" Casavir asked.

"I do not know," Issani said. "And frankly, I am glad of that fact."

"But who was behind these plans?"

"They were careful not to speak in front of me but I learned a few things. There was a man the priest spoke to through some magical means. His name is Garius and I am certain he is a Luskan." Issani's sharp eyes sharpened further at Carona's arrested look. "Do you know something of this man?"

"A little," she said, and then she described what she had overheard at Highcliff Castle.

"More of these priests?" Casavir asked.

Issani spoke over him. "The priest referred to this Garius as the Master of the Fifth Tower." He continued to watch her. "I can see by your expression that this means nothing to you."

"Should it?"

"The city of Luskan is ruled by the mages of the Hosttower. You have heard of the Arcane Brotherhood?" Carona nodded. "Well, their Hosttower is divided into four towers. Four, you understand? For one of the Arcane Brotherhood to claim to be the master of the fifth—well, that is a bold claim. A very bold claim. And an ambitious Luskan mage is an ambitious man indeed."

"And he and this priest were working together? Why? And how were the orcs involved?"

"I do not know for certain. One thing I know is that he anticipated great bloodshed." He cast his eyes towards Casavir.

"Logram was preparing to strike the Greycloak camp," Casavir said. Issani nodded.

"Garius had plans for the dead. He planned to raise an army of undead."

"Do you think Luskan planned to attack Neverwinter with this army?" Casavir shook his head in negation of his own words. "Even if, Tyr help us, all the Greycloaks had fallen, surely there would not have been enough—bodies—for a decisive strike against the city's defenses. Zombies like we faced earlier would not present a great threat to Neverwinter, not unless they came in vast numbers."

"It makes no sense," Issani agreed.

"The necromancer said that Garius was not his master," Carona said. "He implied that they both worked for someone else. Someone greater."

"That is worrisome news," Issani said.

* * *

Carona couldn't tell who was more shocked by their successful return—her guild contact, Karina, or the leader of the Greycloaks.

"So you're this Katalmach I've heard so much about," Commander Callum said. "Now that I know who you are, much becomes plain, Casavir."

"It is good to see you again, Callum."

Carona supposed she shouldn't have been surprised that they knew each other. The two spoke quietly and although Casavir looked wary, there seemed to be no enmity between them. That was something of a relief. Carona had begun to wonder if Casavir was an outlaw or exile from Neverwinter but apparently he was free to return to the city if he so chose. Issani had hinted that he would be most grateful if Casavir would accompany him to Neverwinter. Karina, who latched onto their party as soon as she spotted Issani, noticed this and urged Carona to persuade him as best she could.

Carona hadn't expected Casavir to agree but she wasn't nearly as surprised as his sergeant Katriona when he did so. She was not privy to what passed between them but Katriona's flushed face and Casavir's wooden expression told her that the discussion had not gone well. In the end, however, Callum agreed to take on any of Casavir's troops willing to join as Greycloaks, and Casavir agreed to return to Neverwinter "for now". He gave no hint to his future plans.

Karina travelled with them. She produced forged Council documents entitling her to draw upon Callum's supplies and riding stock for the emissary's use. That was convenient, since Chule had demonstrated her faith in their survival by returning to Neverwinter with all their rented donkeys the day after they'd gone into the mountains. Not that Carona expected Callum would begrudge them a handful of donkeys but the paperwork saved an argument or two, no doubt.

Karina used every opportunity during the long ride to the city to whisper in Issani's ear. Now that he was safe, the emissary's face settled into a cool polite mask most of the time. Karina promoted the Thieves Guild's interests, no doubt, and Carona wished her good fortune. Issani, who had already withstood torture, had impressed her as a man not easily manipulated.

They didn't see a single orc the entire trip back.

They arrived in Neverwinter just as the sun dropped into the sea. The gate sergeant told them that the Blacklake district was still closed, so Issani could not be taken directly to Nasher. The sergeant sent a runner to the Watch post but he didn't think a pass could be arranged for Issani before morning.

"Just as well," Issani said. "I am in most desperate need of a bath and a change of clothes. I would hate to present myself looking so disreputable."

Once they passed through the city gates, Karina rode on ahead to arrange for suitable lodgings, or so she said. Carona figured she wanted to report to the guild master for further instructions.

She returned quicker than Carona expected and with a smug look. Presumably the guild master was pleased. Carona hoped that meant she'd be paid handsomely and soon, for her purse was almost as flat as Casavir's. Karina led them to the Shining Serpent Inn and made it clear that Carona and her friends were dismissed.

The emissary had words of thanks for them all. When he reached Carona, he took her hand.

"I will not forget the lady who brought me a dagger in the darkness," he said. His bland mask slipped to show genuine warmth. "If there is ever anything I can do for you, do not hesitate to ask."


	19. The Sea Ghost

**Chapter 19…The Sea Ghost**

Carona wasn't happy to be dragged away from her dinner to yet another dark, quiet warehouse. The assignment her guild master gave her did not improve her mood.

"A Luskan sloop, the Sea Ghost, docked here this evening. They carry no cargo, or so they claim, and our eyes in the Docks inform me that they are more heavily manned than they choose to reveal. I wish to send Luskan a clear message: without my permission, they will not be doing business here."

"And how do you want me to deliver this message?" Carona asked.

The mask the guild master wore that evening left his lower face exposed. His skin was dark and she wondered if he were perhaps a Sembian. That would explain a few things.

His lips formed a small smile. "I am certain you can force home the point," he said. He stepped close and his fingers flicked the hilt of the sword at her hip. "Waste no subtleties on the Luskanites. Call upon Moire for any assistance you need. I expect she will find this task exactly to her taste."

"Why not give it to her then?"

"Oh," he said. "The choice of messenger is a message in itself, don't you agree?"

"Waste no subtleties on me, please. I don't understand you."

"Don't you? Ah. Perhaps the one the message is intended for will understand it well enough."

Carona frowned. "Sir, I have no desire to give Moire," _more cause to hate me_, "an affront. Surely she will see this as one."

"If any affront is taken, she will know where to lay the blame." He had a low, pleasant laugh. "Come now, Carona, I am pleased with you. Continue to serve me well and your rewards will be—substantial."

"I am satisfied with the rewards you've given me," she said uneasily.

"Gold has its uses but have you no ambition?" More softly, he added, "I thought—in light of your relationship with Janit—"

She took an angry step backward. "My relationship with Janit had nothing to do with ambition! Far from it."

"My apologies. I meant no—affront. For a man in his position, a companion with no personal ambition was, no doubt, refreshing. And yet I thought it clear he was grooming you for more responsibility."

"You're wrong."

The guild master smiled. "I have been wrong before." A languid wave of the hand dismissed her. Her steps were so quiet that she could hear the words he murmured. "But not often."

* * *

The smell of the Docks was as foul as her mood. She was taken back to see the district master with no delay. The long, silent and speculative look Moire gave Carona would have chilled her if her own thoughts had not already done so. The elf's eyes may have been insolent but her tone was business-like as they discussed the Sea Ghost.

"She's a gaff rigged schooner, a fast ship designed to be run with a small crew," Moire said. "They are trying to hide their numbers. There are only a few sailors on deck at a time but they are rarely the same men. No one has come ashore, nor has the Sea Ghost received any visitors. Yet."

"Yet?"

"One of the sailors sent a message to the new Luskan ambassador. Torio Claven is her name. I don't know much about her yet. She normally lives in the embassy in Blacklake but was caught out by the lockdown. She rents a house in the Merchant Quarter for now."

"I wonder why she rented a house instead of rooms in an inn. Seems like a lot of bother. Surely Blacklake won't remain closed much longer."

Moire shrugged. "Perhaps she likes her privacy, perhaps because of the size of her entourage but more likely, it's for security. There is hardly a person in this city without a personal grudge against Luskan. She has a big brute of an aide with her who, by all accounts, looks more like a bodyguard than a scribe."

"So you think the Sea Ghost is waiting for the ambassador? Do they carry dispatches perhaps?"

Moire shrugged again. "Anything official should have come by the fast packet in a sealed pouch. However I suggest we take care of our business before she shows up, to avoid any complications. How do you want to handle this?"

"I think you and I should go down and have a word with their captain." Moire raised her brows. "And maybe there should be a lot more of us out of sight. In case the Luskanites don't appreciate a friendly hint."

Moire smiled.

"I've already arranged that the Watch patrols on the wharfs enjoy an evening off. They won't interfere. I suggest you station someone at the bridges to intercept and delay the ambassador's carriage."

"Sounds good."

Before long they had a couple of dozen guild members dressed out as sailors, stevedores and other dock workers. Once they were in place, she, Moire and Caleb strolled out along the wharf.

"Sea Ghost!" Carona called. "Send out your captain."

One of the sailors on deck—an unusually large, muscular, and sunburned sailor—looked them over one long insolent moment. He spoke to Caleb. "These your drabs?" he asked. "An elf and a half-breed?" He spat a thick gob over the rail and onto the dock. "The captain didn't send for a whore."

Moire turned to Carona and raised one brow. They were both openly armed and dressed in well-worn leathers. Carona would be hard pressed to think of a less provocative outfit. "I believe he is trying to be offensive," Moire said in a mock tone of surprise. "Are these typical Luskan manners, do you suppose?" She winked, to Carona's astonishment. "Will you give him an etiquette lesson?"

A quick movement sent Carona's throwing knife straight as an arrow. It pierced the back of the sailor's hand and pinned it to the rail. He let out a loud curse and pulled out the knife with a grunt of pain.

"Nice lesson," Moire said.

Carona was rather pleased with the throw herself. "Such language," she said. "Do we want any foul-mouthed Luskan pirates here, contaminating the docks of our fair city?"

"No, we do not," Moire said. She drew her rapier at the same moment as the sailor drew his sword. He climbed onto the rail, ready to jump down to the wharf.

"I'm going to spill your guts, trollop—Get your hand off that rope!" Carona had gone to one of the lines securing the schooner to the pier.

"Tell your captain to make sail tonight," she told him. "Now, in fact. It would be a pity if your ship were to meet with an accident." Caleb waved his burning torch. Men from below began coming up on deck. They made way for an older man with a short gray beard and skin deeply weathered by the sun.

"Get down, Sannik," he told the man on the rail. With a scowl, he obeyed. "Get that hand bound up," he said, noting the blood dripping from the thin wound in his hand. Sannik scowled deeper and the captain jerked his head at him. Sannik went below.

"I'm Captain Daros," he said. "What seems to be the problem here?"

"The problem is you Luskanites wore out your welcome five years ago," Carona said. "I don't know what business brings you here but you can consider it over and done."

"Luskan and Neverwinter are not at war," he said, opening his hands in a peaceful gesture. "This is a free port."

"Not to you, it isn't," Carona said.

"And you are—?"

"All you need to know is that I represent a group who finds your presence here objectionable."

"And what group might that be?" He leaned over the rail to smile across at her. The Sea Ghost was not a large schooner and the deck of his ship was more or less at the level of the wharf where Carona stood. Carona's return smile was about as sincere as the captain's. She turned her head. Several of the thieves moved out of the shadows to show themselves and the crossbows they carried, held ready to fire.

"I see," the captain said. "Perhaps we can come to some accommodation."

"I'm sure we can. Here's my offer," Carona said. "You leave now, and we won't fire your ship."

"Come now, surely—" He turned as another man, this one in the robes of a mage, joined him on deck. His elegant blue robes fluttered around his knees in the sea breeze and looked wildly inappropriate next to the sailors' simpler garb. The big man, Sannik, stood by his side.

"What is the matter, Daros?" the mage asked in a bored and supercilious voice that set Carona's nerves on end. She noticed that the captain clenched his jaw as if he felt a similar reaction.

"It would appear that your master neglected to clear our visit with the local guilds," the captain said.

"So? Why should he?"

"It is common knowledge that the Thieves own the docks in Neverwinter. They say we cannot land."

"That's ridiculous," the mage said. "Pay them off." He looked over in Carona's direction. "You there!" He pointed at her. "How much?"

"You misunderstand," Carona said. "We are not here to negotiate."

The mage's eyes narrowed in irritation, but as he continued to look at her, his expression altered. He clenched the fingers of his left hand into a fist and looked down at the dull iron ring he wore.

"By the gods, it must be _her_," he said, so low she could barely hear. "What an amazing stroke of luck." He backed away from the rail and looked back at the men now crowding the deck. "Kill them all," he shouted. "Except for the half-breed—keep her alive. If you can't, keep her body as intact as possible."

"What are you doing?" Captain Daros roared but it was too late. Men swarmed over the rail and soon Carona found herself in trouble. She and Moire fought back to back. The first man who rushed Moire dropped instantly, pierced in the throat by her rapier. The elf let out a disturbing laugh.

Crossbows twanged and the remaining thieves rushed out of hiding to join the attack. Carona had her sword in her left hand and her punching dagger in her right. She had neither the strength nor the size to excel in a straight-out brawl and the wharf, wide as it was, didn't give much room to maneuver. Caleb had drawn his heavy scimitar and used his torch as a highly distracting off-hand weapon.

The mage's men didn't move like sailors but like soldiers. A couple of them ran past to prevent Carona from retreating off the wharf. And then the mage attacked.

With a roar, a huge great beast—a dog out of a lotus smoker's nightmare—appeared from mid-air. It leapt past Carona and she heard a man scream. She thought it was Caleb but she couldn't turn to check for she faced two men with cudgels. One of them cursed when a crossbow bolt thudded into his thigh. A roiling ball of blue fire roared past and she heard more screams behind her. The mage had hit the archers with a lightning spell.

"Mind my ship!" the captain shouted. His words made her wonder if they were going to be hit with a fireball next but instead a cold dense fog rolled over her, blinding her and muffling all noise. One of the Luskanites laughed and struck her hard on the elbow. For a breath or two, it didn't hurt and then pain roared up her arm. Her sword fell from her hand.

She heard a large splash and realized she must be close to the edge of the wharf. Someone had gone into the water but whether willingly or not, she did not know. She shook her head but still couldn't see. In fact, she felt strange and dizzy. She punched with her off-hand dagger but missed. Before she recovered her balance, the cudgel struck her shoulder, bounced and clipped her chin as well. She staggered back. Although she was blinded by the fog, apparently her opponents were not.

She staggered again and someone tripped her. She fell. She was kicked in the side twice while she was on her knees, trying to get up. Surely no sailor would wear such heavy boots, she thought vaguely.

"Drop the knife," someone growled. She tightened her grip and struck out at the voice. One of those heavy boots stamped on her wrist.

"Don't kill her," the mage yelled. With another couple of kicks, she lost her hold on her blade.

"Are the others dead?" the mage asked. His voice seemed much closer. A cool breeze puffed up out of nowhere and in moments, the dizzying cloud was gone.

"Dead or crawled back into their holes," said the Luskan soldier who had kicked her. He was the one she had hit with the throwing knife, the one called Sannik. "What should we do with this one, Ahja?"

"Get her up," he said. "We'd best get her onboard before the Watch comes nosing about." Sannik dragged her up by the back of her tunic but her legs were still too weak to support her. She saw that Caleb lay dead in a pool of his own blood. Half of his face had been torn away. "The rest of you—get rid of these bodies. Throw them in the harbor."

"What about my men?" Captain Daros asked. "My injured?"

"What about them?" the mage asked curtly. He pushed past the captain. "Take her to my cabin." Over his shoulder he said, "When Torio comes, let me know. Otherwise I do not wish to be disturbed."


End file.
